


As Deep as Black and Blue

by wildlives



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:23:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1653380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildlives/pseuds/wildlives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lord Coulson goes missing, Clint and Natasha travel far into the countryside to find him. Things are not as they seem in the quiet town where he lives, and a young woman named Skye helps them discover the dark truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Deep as Black and Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [As Deep as Black and Blue (Art)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1655792) by [wintermute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintermute/pseuds/wintermute). 



> Written for the Agents of SHIELD Big Bang 2014! Thank you so much to my amazing artist, wintermute! Her art can be found here! http://archiveofourown.org/works/1655792

It was a long road to Crofton, and by the time their carriage arrived in the evening, Clint had nearly run out of diverting travel games. “We’re not here to count trees, Barton,” said Natasha. The carriage was slowing, rolling now through a gallery of thick, dark trees that hung uncomfortably low in the sky. There were forty-seven of them immediately visible. Clint didn’t mention it.

“We’re here to find Coulson,” said Clint, stretching his arms over his head, casually. “I remember.”

Natasha was folded onto the plush seat across from him, all in black, the widow’s garb that kept interested men away from her. Her travel dress was of a sturdy fabric but had delicate red stitching around the collar and waist in the shape of little flowers and teardrops. Clint was wearing dark trousers and jacket and a vest in a fetching purple. Coulson had said once that it was fetching, in any case, and Clint was almost sure he hadn’t been joking.

Natasha scanned his expression from beneath her little veiled hat. Clint pulled a funny face, but she wouldn’t be distracted. “He’s going to be glad to see you,” she said, with her usual perspicacity. 

“It’s been so long, and we didn’t exactly part on good terms,” said Clint. He frowned out the window to avoid Natasha’s piercing gaze.

Natasha reached across and clapped him on the shoulder, and he reluctantly met her eyes. Her grip was strong through her black velvet gloves. “You’re worrying over nothing, and I’ll tolerate it only as long as your sulking doesn’t affect the mission,” she said, with some good humor.

“I’m not sulking,” Clint sulked. “And it’s not really an official mission. Fury thinks we’re on vacation.”

“Just remember why we are here,” she said. 

“To bring him home,” said Clint. It was easy to say, but not as easy to believe. If all were well, Coulson would be in the carriage with them right now, briefing them on their next mission. He would be smiling at Clint. As it was Clint hadn’t seen his smile in what felt like a lifetime, and Coulson hadn’t even returned a letter since moving to the empty little town of Crofton.

Natasha smiled at him with brief sympathy and sat back. “Exactly. A simple extraction. You’ve done a thousand of them.”

“Only two hundred,” mumbled Clint. “Give or take.”

“Oh, you’re right, that’s not very impressive,” said Natasha. Clint gave her a reluctant smile. 

“Compared to you, it really isn’t,” he said. 

She smirked. 

“I don’t see why we can’t just break in and talk to him,” said Clint.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Here’s where Coulson would have us go over the plan again,” she said. “Because you seem to not remember. We’re going to do this one by the book, by his book, because nothing else has worked. And that means formal invitations, not breaking and entering. It means parties with hostess gifts. It probably means ingratiating ourselves with the staff. You may be required to send a love letter sealed with a kiss and a promise ring.”

That all sounded horrible, but Clint couldn’t help but smile. “You’re enjoying this, I think,” he said. “Just because you have the training to do all this fancy stuff, and I don’t.”

“It is a very refreshing change,” said Natasha agreeably, “at least until we finish this mission. Murdering people isn’t always as difficult a task as it once was. But navigating your society debut is going to be quite a challenge.”

“Ha ha,” said Clint. They grinned at each other across the seats.

Their carriage drew up outside an inn with a carved sign reading The Sword and Shield. The warm, damp wind pushed the sign back and forth with little creaky sighs. The driver handed Natasha out of the carriage while Clint looked down the rutted dirt road that served as the central thoroughfare of Crofton. He saw a stable, some clothiers, and a grocer’s, all closed for the night, and in between the buildings pigs and sheep nosed at their troughs. The purple sunset stained everything in a grim light. 

“I imagine Lord Coulson is benefiting from the quiet,” said Natasha, into the peaceful evening. She hefted her valise over one shoulder, to the dismay of the driver.

Clint watched the sun dim behind the trees. Somewhere in the shadows, a chicken fussed.

“He’s going to go crazy, living out here,” he said. “If he hasn’t already.”

The inn was nicer than Clint expected. There were tablecloths in the dining room, for one thing, and several servers, and a boy whose job it was to carry their luggage upstairs. He was disappointed when neither Clint nor Natasha would relinquish their bags, insisting on carrying them to their unmade room themselves. They tipped him anyway and went back downstairs for a late dinner.

Over their chicken and gravy, they quietly discussed their plans for the next day. “I’ll ask around town and get an invitation for someone under an alias,” said Natasha. “You evaluate the manor from a distance and look for any weak points.” 

Clint nodded. “We should meet back here in the afternoon and start canvassing the shops for people who know his staff. If there’s a bad situation we need to know before we go in.” Natasha quirked an eyebrow. Clint reluctantly said, “I haven’t known Coulson to reject letters outright. Even from Fury. I thought he might be sick or something.”

“Hm,” said Natasha, evaluating. “Well, we’ll see.”

So Natasha thought it wasn’t a sickness. Lord only knew what else it could be. Clint dug into his chicken. It wasn’t half bad.

A young woman in a green dress, perhaps in her twenties, had been casing them for a while, circulating in a friendly way around the room, always returning to sit by herself at a table in the corner, and always keeping Clint and Natasha in her periphery. From the way she moved she couldn’t possibly be a fighter. Natasha had noticed her too and gave Clint a minute shake of the head. She wasn’t a threat. 

Eventually, though, they were going to have to find out what she wanted. Clint finished his drink, told Natasha, “I’ll go ask. Maybe she has an in with Coulson, anyway,” and then bumped into the girl as he tried to get up. She was standing right next to his chair, grinning hugely. Natasha stifled a laugh in her lacy handkerchief.

Clint sat back down in his chair, affronted. The girl leaned down to shake his hand vigorously, brown hair falling loose from its pins, and said, “I apologize, I couldn’t help but overhear.” Her dress was hopelessly dusty but she wore a necklace of glittering green around her neck and her face was sweet enough. Her subterfuge could use some work, though.

“I think you could,” said Natasha, in what sounded like a friendly tone. It wasn’t.

The girl pointed a finger at her and grinned. “You’re right,” she said. “May I sit down? Thank you.” She pulled out the chair next to Clint, who turned his incredulous gaze from Natasha back to the stranger.

“Isn’t it late for a girl your age to be out by herself?” he asked.

“Oh, I live here,” said the girl. “I’m Skye. By the way.” She stuck out a hand to Natasha, who took it, and gave her a very terse smile. “Well, not here,” Skye continued, lowering her voice. “Not in the inn. Nearby, shall I say.”

“Indeed,” said Clint. 

“I wasn’t just eavesdropping,” said Skye. “But I couldn’t help but overhear you mention Lord Coulson. You know him? Have you been to his estate?”

“Have you?” asked Clint, suddenly interested.

“No,” said Skye. “But I need to go there. I was hoping you could get me an invitation.”

Clint sat back a little, disappointed. “What makes Lord Coulson’s estate so desirable?” he asked. 

“His ward,” said Skye immediately.

“Grant Ward?” asked Clint. “He’s here?”

“What? I mean his ward,”said Skye. “Well, he has two. But I need to talk to Jemma Simmons.”

“Coulson has . . . children?” said Clint. 

“Hardly,” said Skye. “They’re older than me, even.”

“He has old children?” said Clint incredulously. “With whom? Where did they come from?” 

Skye raised an eyebrow. “I assume they came into the world the natural way,” she said, “but as for how they came to live with Lord Coulson, I don’t know. Nobody does. We’re not allowed in, you see.”

Clint was feeling more lost by the moment. “We?”

“Anyone, really,” said Skye. “Sometimes Lord Coulson comes out to have tea with a friend. His wards stay inside the manor, though, and no one has ever met them.”

“Children,” said Clint to himself. “He moved to the country and got children.”

Natasha patted Skye’s hand and gave her a a warm, false smile, distracting the young woman from Clint’s failure to comprehend. “You and Miss Simmons must be great friends, for you to want to visit her so urgently,” said Natasha. “Have you been acquainted long?”

“We haven’t actually met,” said Skye earnestly. “But I just have this feeling about her. I think she’s the most marvelous person in Crofton. In the world, probably.”

Skye smiled encouragingly at them, noticed Natasha’s raised eyebrow in Clint’s direction, and said, “What?” She grinned. “What’s so funny about finding someone marvelous? Are you really so old that you’ve forgotten that feeling?”

“Old!” said Clint. Skye laughed.

“We’re simply pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Skye,” said Natasha. “And for a small favor, we’d be glad to get you an invitation to Lord Coulson’s home.”

Skye turned to Natasha, enraptured, and Clint sat back to let Natasha do her work. So Coulson had two wards, grown well into adulthood. It had been a long time since Clint had seen him last, but that was certainly a change.

Natasha and Skye had a long, involved conversation on the other side of the table as Clint dozed pleasantly with his head in his hand. Soon Natasha was nudging him awake. Their room upstairs was ready, and it had gotten late. Skye had gone home to wherever she slept, cagy about it as she was. 

Their room was lit, now, and they unpacked their luggage from where they’d hidden it in the closet. The decor was simple and very rustic, with a little fireplace, a wooden vanity table and chair, each of which had a slight wobble, and a double bed with a large stack of mismatched quilts folded at the foot. There was a window that looked out onto the street. The town below was empty of life.

Clint peered into the distance, at the ponderous rainclouds at were slowly overtaking the moon. Skye had pointed out the direction to Coulson’s estate, and in the dark Clint could almost imagine the flickering light of a candle glinting across the scrubby countryside. It was certainly too far to see, though, even with his good eyes.

He made himself leave the window. “You promised Skye an invitation to Coulson’s, but we aren’t certain to get one ourselves,” said Clint. “He doesn’t even know we’re here. And if we skip directly to the breaking and entering plan, he’s hardly likely to invite our new friend afterwards.”

Natasha smiled as she shook out one of the quilts on the bed. “Skye is going to help us with that matter, actually,” she said. “You noticed that she recognized Grant Ward’s name.”

“I did,” said Clint. “Awfully far from the Academy, for him, if he’s washed up around here. But Skye seems like a knowledgeable young woman. Perhaps he’s just made a name for himself somehow.” He took one side of a heavy, fluffy blanket and helped Natasha spread it out.

“He does indeed live in the area, and Skye has made his acquaintance because he’s always here in town picking up items for his particular friend,” said Natasha. “And can you guess that lady’s name?”

“Hm,” said Clint. He clicked open his valise, absently checking over his bow and arrow, and pulled out his favorite pajamas. “Not Melinda May? I thought she had vanished somewhere for good!”

“She vanished here to Crofton, and she’s been here ever since. Skye assured me that Lady May is Ward’s patroness. She was also confident that Ward owes Skye herself at least one favor. So she promised me that by tomorrow evening, you and I will receive an invitation to visit our old school friend, Melinda May.”

“What a useful young lady,” said Clint. “I am impressed. You should adopt her.”

“I’ve been fully occupied since I adopted you,” said Natasha. “I might find a second adoptee taxing.” She went to the vanity, beginning the long task of unpinning her hair and unlacing her clothes.

“I adopted you,” Clint objected. He finished spreading out the last of the blankets. Natasha got terribly cold at night, and she would cling to him in her sleep if he didn’t bundle them both up. 

“You’d better get some sleep,” she said, ignoring him. She dropped a few hairpins into the little tray on the desk. “I know you’ve had nightmares lately. You can’t hide them from me. I am a spy, you know, and we share a bed.”

“It’s nothing,” said Clint. He shrugged out of his coat and started unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Bullshit,” said Natasha, ladylike. 

He sighed. “Don’t you feel like something is terribly wrong?”

“Other than your particular friend going missing and not writing to you?” she said, eyebrow raised in the mirror.

“Yes, I think so,” said Clint quietly. “Or maybe that’s all it is. Maybe I’ve lost all perspective and I’m having nightmares over a crush.”

Natasha pursed her lips and looked uncomfortable. “Well, if that’s what your gut is telling you, listen,” she said. “Don’t ignore your instincts just because you think you shouldn’t have any. What are they telling you?”

“I keep having dreams that we’re drowning, the three of us,” said Clint. “While a group of figures on the shore look on. What does that mean?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “It means we need to find Coulson as quickly as possible, I think.”

+++

When Grant Ward strode purposefully up to Mr. Stark’s gun shop the next morning, Skye was already there, leaning against the doorjamb. He rolled his eyes and stepped past her. “Good morning, Mr. Ward,” said Skye, picking up her skirts and following him inside. 

Ward went straight to the counter and nodded to the boy who worked there, and he immediately hustled off to the back room. “What do you want now?” asked Ward, scanning the pistols under the glass dispassionately. He didn’t even look up. His suit was so clean and black that it seemed to draw in the light, and his cravat was exquisitely knotted high on his throat.

“Why should I want something?” said Skye, leaning on the counter as casually as possible. “I’m merely pleased to see you. How is your lady? Is she well?”

“You know exactly how she is,” said Ward. “Nothing happens in this town without you knowing it.” He finally looked at her, though, and gave her a fraction of a smile. 

“You flatter me,” said Skye, “but there is something I learned yesterday. Something that may interest you.”

“I know Lord Coulson and his uncle are having a ball,” said Ward, rolling his eyes again.

“He’s having a ball?” exclaimed Skye.

“You didn’t know?” said Ward.

“I have to sleep, Master Ward,” said Skye. “I can’t know everything! Tell me, tell me what you’ve heard!”

“Lady May received a letter about it this morning,” said Ward. “Asking for her thoughts, of course. Lord Coulson and his uncle were having a disagreement over whether it should happen, and when.”

“And?” pressed Skye.

“It’s to be tomorrow night,” said Ward, and shrugged.

“So soon! And what else?” said Skye. “What is the occasion? Should I bring a gift? What color should I wear? What color is Miss Simmons wearing? Why would Coulson’s uncle allow a ball?”

“You know I have no interest in these details, and neither does my lady,” said Ward.

“And yet she’s always effortlessly beautiful,” said Skye. “I know.”

“And I see no reason why Coulson should invite you,” said Ward. “He didn’t mention you in his letter. And as for dresses, I know you only own the one.”

Skye looked down at her simple green dress. It had looked nicer before her extended stay in the stables, but it was still a fashionable mint color, and the ruching on the bodice looked as crisp as the day she’d bought it. She tugged at a crease and shrugged. “And a fine dress it is,” she said, “just the color for a spring ball.”

“It’s autumn,” said Ward.

She waved a hand at him impatiently. “You haven’t asked what my secret is, the real secret,” said Skye. “The thing I know and you don’t.”

“I’ve half a mind to leave before you can tell me,” said Ward. “Just to watch you running down the road after my carriage.”

“Two friends of your lady’s are in town,” said Skye smugly. “They seemed to think she’d want to entertain them.”

“The only friends my ladyship would entertain already live here,” said Ward, “and you’re looking at one of them.”

“Not that kind of entertaining,” said Skye, just to see Ward refuse to blush. “A Mister Barton, and Miss Romanov?”

Ward raised his eyebrows. The shopkeeper returned with a brown box, already wrapped tight with twine, and Ward took it, left a folded bank note on the counter, and turned to leave the shop. 

Skye hurried after him, saying, “You are familiar with them, I hope? They aren’t some charlatans?”

“No, I know them,” said Ward. “So does her ladyship. Did it seem like anything was wrong?”

Skye thought about it. “They didn’t seem upset,” she said. “Just very . . . efficient.”

Ward nodded, one hand on his carriage door. “I’ll tell her ladyship,” he said. “You can tell your new acquaintances to expect a message from her shortly.” He swung up into the carriage, parcel in hand, and Skye watched it roll away.

+++

Skye was back at her residence, holding up both of her silk scarves against the fabric of her dress to compare the colors, when the door opened.

Miss Romanov settled herself in the seat opposite Skye and latched the door behind her. “So you live in a carriage in a stable, Miss Skye,” said Miss Romanov.

Skye looked around at the carriage. “I do,” said Skye. “Well, it’s really only a carriage in basic description, anymore. As you can see, I’ve modified it. Mind you don’t step on my bookshelf, there. And, oh.” Skye scooped up a pile of underthings on the seat next to Miss Romanov and cast about for a place to hide them. There really wasn’t one. Skye put them down on the cushion and sat on them instead. “I pay the innkeeper to keep my carriage here,” she said, in case that was why Miss Romanov had come. “It’s much cheaper than renting a room. Although I imagine he’s noticed by now that I sleep inside it.”

“I’m not here about your home,” said Miss Romanov. “Mr. Barton and I just got a letter from Lady May. That was very prompt.”

Skye shrugged. “I’m good at getting information, Miss Romanov,” she said. She twisted the scarves in her lap. “Was it . . . was it not what you wanted? I can try again. Ward still owes me favors. Don’t listen if he says otherwise.”

“It was exactly what we wanted,” said Miss Romanov, bestowing on Skye a small, approving smile. “Your skills are impressive.”

“Thank you,” said Skye, relaxing her stranglehold on her scarf. Something about Miss Romanov seemed like she was always on the edge of attacking someone. “So . . . What is it you and Mister Barton do, exactly?”

“We are in the same line of work as Lord Coulson,” said Miss Romanov.

“Farming?” said Skye.

“. . . Yes,” said Miss Romanov. “Farming.”

Skye laughed. “I’m only joking,” she said. “I know that Lord Coulson worked for the government back in London. Or the military. Perhaps both. The rumors aren’t very clear.”

“You’re acquainted with Grant Ward,” said Miss Romanov. “He hasn’t spoken of his history with Coulson?”

“I can tell he respects him,” said Skye. “So much that he respects his wish not let outsiders like me into Coulson’s estate. And if you think Ward is forthcoming about anything, you obviously don’t know him as well as you think.”

Miss Romanov smiled. “I thought love and the countryside might have softened him a little,” she said, with a wry smile.

“Softened him around the middle, perhaps,” said Skye. “You can tell him I said that.”

“I will,” said Miss Romanov. “In a short while, Mister Barton and I will be going to Lady May’s residence to speak with her. In the meantime, we have another favor to ask you. We’d be in your debt.”

+++

The May residence was a two-story cottage with a neatly tended flower garden, and long, military-straight rows of vegetables in a field next to the stable. The door had a silver knocker in the shape of an eagle. When Clint tapped it three times, Lady May answered the door herself, wearing brown riding trousers and a helmet.

“Took you long enough,” she said, with a dry smile, and stepped back to let them into the house.

The front room was low-ceilinged with matching hooks for their hats and a narrow closet for their coats. May put her feet up one muddy boot at a time on the wooden chest by the door and unlaced them from the top down, leaving the boots with their tops folded over on the dark gray flagstones.

Natasha curtseyed and hung her hat and veil on one of the hooks. “It’s been a long time,” she said. “They miss you, back at the Academy. You live on in whispers.”

“It’s the whispers I really don’t miss,” said May, shaking her hair out of her riding helmet.

“This is a really nice place,” said Clint, peering through doorways to the left and right. A parlor here, and a library over there. A sturdy wooden staircase bent upwards into what he supposed were the sleeping quarters. “Never pegged you for the domestic type. I always imagined you’d gone to live in a cave in a mountainside somewhere.”

May didn’t smile at his joke. “I’m through with the old life, no matter what Coulson told you,” she said. “If you’re here to recruit me, you’re going to be disappointed.”

“Oh, no, that’s not why we’re here,” said Clint.

May raised an eyebrow. He looked to Natasha, but she just gave him an expectant look.

Clint continued awkwardly, “We’re not here for you; it’s about Coulson. We wanted to see him.”

“So why aren’t you over there now?” said May. 

“He’s been returning our letters,” said Natasha. 

“And I suppose there’s a reason you haven’t simply broken in yet,” May continued. She still seemed very unimpressed. Clint grew less and less optimistic.

Natasha inclined her head. “I thought the personal touch might help, before we resort to extralegal measures.”

May gave them each a long look. “If he doesn’t want to see you, it’s because he doesn’t think you should be here,” she said. “I don’t think I have to tell you how I feel about that.”

“Well, we came anyway,” said Clint. “Come on, Melinda. You know us.”

“Why doesn’t he want us here?” said Natasha.

May’s face was impassive, and she waited a long moment before speaking. “Most of us like life here, but not Coulson,” she said, grudgingly. “If he never returned your letters, he didn’t want you getting involved.”

“He knew I’d come if he never wrote back,” objected Clint. May might have looked impressed. Probably not, though. 

“Or he never saw our letters, or he wasn’t able to respond,” said Natasha. “Or he was simply remiss. We’re not here to judge. We’re just here to check up on an old friend.”

May inclined her head. “Then we’ll talk over tea. Follow me, please.”

“Certainly,” said Natasha. “And on the way you can explain just what you mean by ‘involved.’”

Lady May seated them in the parlor and brought in a kettle of water she’d already set to boil. She served them herself from a little black tea-set accented with red blossoms. 

“It’s quiet here,” said Lady May, breaking the silence. “The most complicated choices people make are about what cake to serve to their guests. People come to town to visit, or just to pass through, and they end up staying. Dr. Banner in town was only planning to stay one night, but he found something soothing here, he told me once. I suppose that’s what I mean. The quiet life hasn’t been sitting well with Coulson, although he tries.”

“Then he should leave,” said Clint. “Why hasn’t he?”

“His uncle prefers he stay here,” said May. She settled back in her chair and tucked her stockinged feet up to one side. 

Natasha glanced at Clint, but he shook his head and shrugged. “We didn’t know he had an uncle,” said Natasha, a little grudgingly. She didn’t like not knowing things. 

May shrugged too. “Most people have at least one. Coulson does. He’s a cold man, but he’s family. I’ve only met him a few times. He doesn’t often leave their house, except to go shopping in town with Coulson’s wards, sometimes.”

“Tell us about his wards,” said Natasha. 

May raised an eyebrow. “If he hasn’t told you, I imagine it’s because he doesn’t want you to know.”

“Come on, May,” said Clint impatiently. “We came to you first out of respect, but you know we’re not going to give up on Coulson. If you won’t tell us about something as harmless as his family, we’ll go somewhere else.”

May pursed her lips and set down her teacup. “He wasn’t happy in the service, either. He had doubts.” She glanced up at Clint and seemed to see the surprise on his face. “He never told anyone but me. You were all too close to Fury, but he knew I was getting out, too. I don’t want you dragging him back into something he doesn’t want anymore.”

“We’re not here for Fury,” said Clint. “We’re here for Coulson. I’ll quit the service if that’s what it takes. I’ll retire here and become a . . . a beet farmer.”

May looked at Natasha with a very, very faint smile. “Oh, I won’t quit the service,” said Natasha. “But I’ll tell Fury and the others that Coulson is dead, if that’s what he wants. That will eliminate the question entirely.” She grinned at Clint. “No beets required.”

May inclined her head. “Good,” she said. “Coulson’s wards are two orphans he arrived in town with. They’re of marrying age, both very odd, and nearly inseparable. Coulson’s uncle is hard on them, and they haven’t yet debuted because he doubts their social niceties. Coulson loves them terribly.”

“And you?” asked Natasha.

“I don’t especially like children,” said May. “Even children more than twenty years old.”

Natasha set aside her tea and folded her hands in her lap. “That’s unfortunate, because I have a request for you,” she said. “The repayment of a favor from many years ago. I think you remember.”

“Of course I do,” said May. “Name it.”

Natasha smiled. “It’s nothing dangerous. And I know you’ll rise to the occasion beautifully.”

+++

That night after dinner, as Natasha readied herself for bed, Clint stripped off his jacket and pulled his black shirt and leather vest out his suitcase.

He didn’t have to tell Natasha what he was doing. “If uninvited guests aren’t allowed inside, there’s probably more waiting for you there than just a lock on the door,” was all she said, as she brushed out her hair.

“That’s what these are for,” said Clint, setting his bow and quiver on the bed. She inclined her head approvingly. When he swung one leg out of their open window and dropped down into the street, she didn’t even watch him go.

It felt better, walking quickly in the darkness, cutting through fallow fields and copses of fat trees. He had served with Coulson for years, in battles, at sea, and through the tense mundanity that was most espionage. Their entire relationship, such as it was, had been a sequence of extremes. To walk down the street in broad daylight and bow to villagers, asking politely after a lost friend, felt unnatural. But now Clint had his quiver on his back and his left boot was leaking damp from a crack in the sole. He felt like he was finally waking up. 

It was about two miles of soggy ground to Coulson’s manor. Clint made the trek in half an hour. The building was rising up out of the gloom, blocky and forbidding in the black-gray light, and there were no lights in the windows except for a single latticed window in the attic.

Clint knelt next to a moldering stone wall and watched the house.

All Clint and Natasha had had, when they left to find Coulson, was an address and a sense of foreboding. They didn’t know why he had left or even how long he had been gone. There was a gloom that filled Clint whenever he thought of Coulson, despite his efforts to stay professional, and that gloom was all over this house, seeping out of the ground, and clinging to the vine-covered walls like fog. Something was terribly wrong here. It set Clint’s teeth on edge.

He watched the house for two hours before he walked back to the inn. The light in the attic never changed.

+++

Skye was sitting in her carriage, trying to pin up her hair in the grimy little mirror she’d propped against the back window, when Ward knocked and immediately pulled the door open.

“Ugh, I told you,” said Skye, as he clambered in and nudged her over on the seat. “Don’t talk to me when I’m in here. I could be doing anything. Private things.”

“Everyone in Crofton already knows you live in the stables,” said Ward, putting up one boot on the opposite cushion with great impudence. “You don’t really have a reputation to protect.”

“I’m busy,” Skye insisted. She frowned at her reflection, let down the ugliest of the twirls, and started again. “But tell me why you’re here.”

“Now you want to know,” said Ward smugly.

“Yes, fine, I want to know,” said Skye impatiently. “Are you going to the ball tonight? Have you heard if-“

“If Jemma Simmons is going to be there, no, I haven’t heard,” said Ward, rolling his eyes. “It is her house, though, after all.”

“Nobody knows anything,” said Skye, dissatisfied. 

“I am here about the ball, however,” added Ward.

When he didn’t continue, Skye turned to him, holding her hairpins in with both hands. “What is it?”

“My patroness heard you needed a dress appropriate for the occasion,” said Ward, watching her evenly. 

“. . . Have you been complaining about my dress again?” said Skye blankly.

“And,” said Ward, ignoring her, “she wants to loan you one for the night.”

Skye stared at Ward, uncomprehending. A lock of hair slipped out of the pins and bounced off her cheek. “Is . . . is Lady May even my size?” she asked.

“Just come with me, Skye.” Ward rolled his eyes and climbed back out of the carriage. Skye scrambled to follow.

+++

“I’m really flattered,” Skye babbled, as Lady May ushered her into the biggest closet Skye had ever seen. “It’s just that you seem to wear a lot of black, and I don’t know if that’s really appropriate for a spring ball, and I’ve never seen you-“

Lady May pushed open the curtains on the opposite wall and the room was flooded with light. Either side of the room was lined with dresses in every possible color. Skye fell silent and turned in a circle, hand over her mouth.

“My riding clothes I keep in the wardrobe,” said Lady May, with a dry smile. “These are for special occasions.”

Skye went immediately to a frothy pink dress with so many ruffles she couldn’t even find the sleeves. “I can hardly picture you wearing this,” she said, before she could think better of it. “I mean, not that you wouldn’t look amazing, Lady May-“

“I have nieces,” said Lady May, standing very still by the window, watching her. “And please. Call me Melinda.”

“This is amazing, Melinda,” said Skye. The dresses were organized by color, and Skye went directly to the blues and greens, holding up each one to the light and frowning at it. “Uh, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” said Lady May, very calmly.

“Why are you being so nice to me? Not that you’re not nice, but, well . . .”

Lady May let her trail off painfully before she raised an eyebrow and said, “I’m really not that nice.”

“Haha,” said Skye nervously, and hid her awkward expression behind a shiny blue dress.

“Some mutual friends asked that you be able to attend the ball,” said Lady May. “I owe one of them a favor.”

“Okay,” said Skye. “That’s really nice of you. But I’m pretty sure they only wanted to get me an invitation.”

Lady May’s face was impassive. Skye hid behind a dress again.

“Mr. Ward suggested that you might appreciate the loan of a dress,” said Lady May, finally.

Skye laughed delightedly, and held up a defensive hand when Lady May’s expression subtly darkened. “Mr. Ward is very kind,” said Skye.

“Yes,” said Lady May, a little testily.

“I’m merely touched that he thought of me,” said Skye. “It speaks well of him, and you.”

Lady May seemed satisfied by this. “He cares very much for people, though he prefers not to show it,” she said, with a touch of pride. She went to the green dresses and started inspecting them one by one, glancing from Skye to each dress, with a little line of concentration between her brows.

Skye had moved on to the yellows. “I always knew he cared,” she said. “I could see it in the way he yelled at me to stop sitting on the curb like a vagabond. Oh, what are these?”

She lifted down from the rod a gauzy garment that, once freed from the press of fabric, proved to be a pair of translucent trousers delicately gathered at the waist and ankle.

“Wow, these are . . . something,” said Skye. She squinted at them. “They’re also much too long to be yours. Oh my goodness. Are these Ward’s?”

Lady May gave her a stern eyebrow. “That’s Mr. Ward, to you,” she said, with the barest hint of a smirk around the edges.

Skye shoved the trousers back on the rack, grinning. “Yes, my Lady,” she said.

Lady May held up a dress decisively. “This one, I think,” she said. “It matches your necklace.”

Skye’s hand flew to her throat. “How did you know?” she asked. 

“It’s clearly very special to you,” said Lady May. “Here.” She held up a dress to Skye’s front. It was a warm emerald color, perfectly matching the gems around Skye’s neck, and made of a fine fabric that was soft to the touch. There was a wide ribbon laced around the middle and at the bottom Skye could see a pattern of dark blue roses, scattered around the hem.

“It’s beautiful, Lady May,” said Skye, holding the dress up to the light. “It’s like it was made for me!”

“I’m glad you like it,” said Lady May, almost kindly. “But of course, it wasn’t. And after the ball I’d like you to return it to Mr. Ward.”

“Yes, of course, my Lady,” said Skye, still beaming at the dress. “With all promptness.”

+++

Skye leaned out of Mr. Barton and Miss Romanov’s carriage as it rolled up the gravel path toward Lord Coulson’s manor.

“It looks marvelous,” she said effusively. The trees grew larger and more twisted as they approached, and there were little pools of fog in the grass by the road, although it had been an unseasonably warm day. 

Skye pulled her head back in and said, “Does this place seem a little odd, to you?”

Miss Romanov and Mr. Barton simply looked at each other, then back out the widow, silently.

Skye sat down slowly. “I was rather hoping you would say no,” she said, “so that I could continue to be happy and carefree.”

“It’s your first ball,” said Miss Romanov, deadpan. “You should enjoy yourself.”

Skye sat back down on the seat. “All right. Is something wrong?” She glanced between their faces. “Is Lord Coulson ill?”

“He’s not ill,” said Mr. Barton, with unusual gravity. He had such a strange, unhappy look on his face, so different from the smile he had presented to the carriage driver, that Skye had to look away, back to Miss Romanov’s reassuring steeliness.

“We think someone may be influencing Lord Coulson, perhaps by threatening him,” said Miss Romanov bluntly. “We didn’t inform you before because we didn’t want you to tell your friends.”

“Really only the one friend,” said Skye, distracted, and then made herself focus: “Who could be threatening him? I thought Lord Coulson was a man who could take care of himself.”

“He can,” said Clint sharply. Her eyes widened. “And why did you think that, anyway? I thought you never met him.”

Skye shrugged helplessly. “I know he’s friends with Lady May. She’s an extremely capable woman. It was simply an assumption. Was I wrong?”

Miss Romanov shook her head. “You weren’t wrong. Lord Coulson is not just a friend of ours, but a former coworker,” she said. “And in our line of business . . . we know how to protect ourselves.”

“You’re spies,” said Skye.

Miss Romanov’s expression shuttered. She glanced significantly at Mr. Barton.

“What? It’s written all over you,” said Skye, raising her hands defensively.

“No, it isn’t,” said Clint. “That’s sort of the point.”

“What, do you think I’m in collusion with this mystery menace? Do you think I would keep Miss Simmons trapped in that house, when you know all I want is to meet her? I don’t have time to be evil. I’m already very busy with everything else.”

“We wouldn’t have invited you here if we thought you were a threat,” interrupted Miss Romanov. “But it hasn’t escaped our notice that you seem to know things others don’t.”

“That’s kind of my thing,” said Skye. “It’s my only thing.”

“Indeed,” said Miss Romanov. “So we have a task for you at this ball.”

Skye sighed. “I knew there would be more strings attached.”

“We certainly won’t be chaperoning a teenager to a ball, otherwise,” said Clint.

“I’m not a teenager. I’m over twenty,” said Skye.

“Fine. An old maid, then,” Clint sniped.

“Oh!” said Skye, but Clint was already smiling. “Oh! Miss Romanov, do you let him call you an old maid? That’s a dreadful thing to say.”

“Actually, I’m a widow,” said Miss Romanov. Skye opened her mouth, horrified, but Miss Romanov held up a quelling hand. “No, don’t apologize. We’re nearly there. While at the party, I want you to talk to as many people about Lord Coulson as possible, and use your unusual skills for unearthing secrets as best you can. We’ll be doing the same. Report back to us after the ball.” The carriage rolled to a stop in front of Coulson’s manor. 

Clint added, “And Skye - keep yourself out of danger, and don’t leave the ballroom by yourself. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, but if it’s got control over Coulson, then it’s much more dangerous than you.”

“I’ll have you know I’m very dangerous,” muttered Skye, and then the driver swung open the carriage door.

A flight of wide, steep steps swept across the gravel courtyard and up to a pair of tall wooden doors, and at the top of each railing sat a stone eagle statue, frozen in identical screams, with arrows clutched in their talons. Lining the courtyard were braziers burning festively on top of long, twisted poles. Skye let the driver help her down from the carriage and stood at the foot of the steps, looking up and up and up at the house. It was nearly as tall as it was wide. All the windows were lit up, shining colorful lights down on the arriving guests.

“I wonder how they make the light in so many colors?” said Skye, as Miss Romanov alighted beside her. 

“Lord Coulson’s wards are very talented,” intoned the footman. “Please, do come in.”

The foyer was high-ceilinged with a large chandelier hung with eerie, glittering lights. Narrow mirrors adorned the walls and in front of them was Lord Anthony Stark, being helped out of his coat by his valet, Jarvis.

“Good evening, Mr. Jarvis,” said Skye.

“Good evening, Miss Skye,” he replied, bowing.

Lord Stark met her eyes in the mirror. “And not a good word for me?” He pointed at her. “You still owe me, you know.”

Mr. Barton drifted to Skye’s side, his own coat folded over one arm, and Skye could see him sizing up Lord Stark suspiciously. She patted Mr. Barton’s arm reassuringly and shot back to Stark, “You threw me a pound note and commanded I bring you a pastry. Hardly a legally binding contract, my lord.”

Mr. Barton relaxed and shrugged off Skye’s hand. Lord Stark noticed him in the mirror and slowly turned to look at Mr. Barton, then Miss Romanov, nodding appreciatively. “Guests of Miss Skye? Care to introduce us?”

A footman stood by the doorway to the ballroom. “Right this way, my lord, ladies and gentlemen.”

“You can get introduced to them like everyone else,” scolded Skye. “And leave Miss Romanov alone. She’s a widow.”

Skye stood next to Mr. Barton and Miss Romanov as the footman announced them. Most of the heads in the room didn’t turn, but in the far corner Skye saw Lord Coulson look quickly over, then away, and flash his conversational partner an apologetic smile. Then the footman was ushering them away from the doors and into the ballroom proper, Lord Stark was getting his own specialized announcement behind them, and the crowd swallowed Skye up.

It was mostly people she knew from town, plus some visiting relatives, plus every eligible teenager for miles, plus all their chaperones. They were all wearing fine clothes in the latest fashions, and the glitter of their jewelry in the warm electric light was dazzling. Skye felt mousy and unexceptional among them until she glanced down at Lady May’s borrowed dress. She cut a fine figure, it was true. And with her green necklace and her hair done just so, she looked like she belonged. She raised her head and started socializing.

First she asked a handsome man in uniform about the identity of Lord Coulson’s friend, a tall blond man who hadn’t left Lord Coulson’s side since Skye’s arrival. That turned out to be a mistake.

“That’s Captain Rogers,” said the handsome man grimly. “He’s wonderful.”

“Oh,” said Skye. “Thank you?”

“I know all about him. I’m a friend of Lord Stark’s, you see.” 

“Oh,” said Skye. She did see. Lord Stark had been pursuing a Captain Rogers for months now, although Skye had never met the captain in question. She had begun to think he was a figment of Lord Stark’s fertile imagination. “To be fair,” she said, glancing again in Captain Rogers’s direction, “he is as beautiful as Lord Stark has said.”

“Believe me, you don’t know the half of what Lord Stark has said,” said the man. He held out a hand. “Colonel James Rhodes. Pleased to make your acquaintance, I hope. As long as you aren’t planning to talk about Steven Rogers all night.”

“No sir,” said Skye cheerfully. “But I do plan to talk about Lord Coulson.”

The Colonel raised an eyebrow. “Is yours a love truer than all loves? The stone upon which you anchor your entire being?”

“Ew, no,” said Skye. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with him. But no.”

“Good,” said Colonel Rhodes. “What do you want to know?”

“Have you noticed anything strange lately?”

Colonel Rhodes looked unimpressed. He was good at that.

“I mean other than everything about Lord Stark,” she amended.

Colonel Rhodes gazed around the room, considering. “I’m not close with Coulson himself,” he said, “but the man has been acting oddly since he moved here. He never attends society functions of any kind. And yet here we are, drinking wine in his house.”

“There’s wine?” said Skye, looking around.

“I think your chaperones would rather you stay clear-headed,” said Colonel Rhodes.

“Chaperones? Oh, Miss Romanov and Mr. Barton? No, they’re just-“

“Old friends of Lord Coulson’s. I know,” said Colonel Rhodes. “You can tell them I don’t know anything about what he’s been up to. But also tell them that the fields in the village wouldn’t grow this year, and nobody knows why.”

Skye stared at him. “So . . . you think Coulson’s a witch?” she said eventually.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. 

“You think someone cursed the fields?”

“Go mingle,” he insisted. “Or better yet, go ask Tony what color Captain Rogers’s eyes are.”

Skye didn’t go ask Tony. She headed straight across the room toward Captain Rogers, who was now chatting with a beautiful brunette. Coulson had vanished into the murmuring crowd.

“Captain,” said Skye, as charmingly as possible. “I’m Skye. May I have a moment?”

That conversation was even less informative. Despite their apparent closeness, Captain Rogers was only a passing acquaintance of Lord Coulson’s, and had only glowing things to say about him and his home and his wards. When asked about any strangeness in the area, though, his handsome face darkened. “I can’t be sure, but-“

“Is this about the farming?”

His brow creased. “Farming?”

“Never mind, go ahead,” she said.

“Lord Coulson’s uncle,” said Captain Rogers. “He keeps staring, but when I go to introduce myself, I can’t seem to find him.” He pointed.

In the far corner of the room, near a settee crowded with young partygoers, stood a tall, blocky man in a long black coat. His black top hat reflected no light and neither did his eyes. He was staring directly at Skye.

“My goodness,” said Skye. She glanced at Captain Rogers, then back at Lord Coulson’s uncle; he hadn’t moved. “Do you know his name?”

“It’s Coulson as well, I think,” said Captain Rogers apologetically. “Well, I assume. No, I don’t know.”

“I’m going to go talk to him,” said Skye firmly. Coulson’s uncle stared depthlessly back at her across the room. “Yes. Any minute now.”

She was about to turn back into the crowd when Captain Rogers put a hand on her arm. “If you and I go different directions, though, we might be able to head him off.” He said, smiling tentatively. It was a thoroughly charming smile; Lord Stark was right about that much. “It might help one of us catch him, at least. I’ve been meaning to speak to him too, you see.”

“By all means, Captain Rogers, by all means,” said Skye. 

Captain Rogers directed Skye to take the left, which she did, keeping eye contact with the uncle as she did so. She weaved through the crowd and almost reached his side, close enough to see him frown at her, but when she had to sidestep an enthusiastic dancing couple she momentarily lost his gaze. When she looked back up, he was gone.

Skye paused next to a fashionable pink settee and scanned the room. Lord Coulson’s uncle was in the far corner now, apparently in conversation with a normal-looking woman. Captain Rogers appeared next to Skye and said, “Oh well, it was worth a try, right?” He looked a little discomfited. That was the most evasive uncle Skye had ever seen.

“It was,” she said, and saluted. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, Captain.”

He saluted back, and she laughed. “Aren’t you here with chaperones?” he asked. “Perhaps they’ve had better luck.”

“I imagine they have. They’re very crafty,” she said. She turned and pointed out Miss Romanov and Mr. Barton in the crowd. “There, with the bright red hair, and there, looking uncomfortable next to that waiter. They’re friends of his lordship. I’m mainly here to see Miss Simmons. By the way, Captain Rogers, have you seen Lord Coulson’s wards here tonight? I wanted particularly to meet them.”

His face fell. “Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?” said Skye with alarm.

“Coulson’s wards are both ill,” he said. “Their doctor forbade them to come to the ball.”

Skye looked helplessly around the room, as if she could conjure Miss Simmons just by wishing hard enough. “Do you know where they are?” she asked. “Are they here, in the house?”

“I assume they’re in their beds,” said Captain Rogers sternly, but it quickly faded into concern. “I’m sorry, Miss Skye. Are you particular friends with them?”

“We’ve never met,” said Skye distractedly. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.” 

Over in the corner, Lord Coulson’s uncle stared at Skye, never wavering.

+++

Coulson was in conversation with Lord Stark. They’d been talking for nearly ten minutes, while Clint circled the room slowly, checking out every guest. Natasha was mingling with the dancers and kept sending Clint pointed looks: he wasn’t to engage directly with Coulson yet. Coulson was compromised, and his word was secondary to the intel they could gather from others. 

And even so, when Coulson laughed, so happy, and shook his head fondly at Lord Stark, Clint broke his pattern and went straight for them.

He set a hand on Coulson’s arm. “Phil.”

Coulson didn’t jump, nor even meet Clint’s eyes. “I told you not to come here,” he said, almost gently.

Lord Stark’s eyebrows went up and up. “And who is this?”

Clint ignored him. “Phil, you’ve got to tell us what’s going on,” he said. “What happened? And don’t say it’s nothing.”

Lord Stark raised his hands. “I’ll come back later,” he said irrelevantly, and disappeared.

Coulson finally looked Clint in the eye. He was smiling, softly, but he looked so tired. “I’m glad to see you,” he said. That, at least, was the truth, and Clint’s heart swelled. “But you have to leave,” he continued urgently. “Tonight. Leave while you can.”

“Not without you,” said Clint immediately.

Coulson shook his head. “I can’t get out, I’ve tried,” he said in a low voice. “The roads turn back on themselves. Even the hallways in this house loop back to where they started. If you get their attention, they won’t let you leave, either.”

Clint slid his hand down Coulson’s arm and tried to clasp his hand, but Coulson pulled away, putting a few feet of distance between them. 

“This isn’t convincing me to leave you here,” said Clint sharply. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Who are they? How can they do that? Why haven’t you killed them? Why won’t you let us help?”

Coulson gave him a wry, frightened smile, and Clint couldn’t manage a smile back. He looked very handsome in his evening wear and shiny new shoes, but the weariness in his face was making Clint feel sick. Clint continued, with quiet urgency, “It’s our job to take care of you. I never left you in danger in the field and I’m not going to start now.”

The corner of Coulson’s mouth turned up. “Well, there was the time in Sumatra.”

That surprised Clint into a ragged laugh. “I told you that was an accident.”

Coulson smiled at him warmly, touched Clint’s hand, leaned in, and whispered in Clint’s ear, “I’m going to go explain the situation to Natasha. And she’s going to have both of you out of town within the hour.” He leaned back again and looked sadly into Clint’s flushed face. “I hope you have a really nice life, Agent Barton,” he said, and slipped away into the crowd.

“Fuck,” Clint muttered, which drew a scandalized gasp from a gray-haired woman in earshot. He tried to follow Coulson, but a tall man in a black tailcoat suddenly stood in his way.

Clint had been a circus performer before he’d been a spy, and before that, he’d been a scared little kid. And for what felt like Clint’s whole life, he’d known a dangerous man when he saw one.

“Hey, I need to get by,” said Clint steadily. The guy was skinny, old, and very still, but he had a ponderous darkness about him, and no matter how hard Clint looked, he still couldn’t exactly see the guy’s eyes under the brim of his top hat. 

“You must be Mr. Barton,” said the old guy, in a calm, slithery voice. “Philip has told me so much about you.”

“I bet he hasn’t,” said Clint, as cheerfully as he could. “Hey, sorry, I’ve got to go.” He dodged sideways past a twirling couple and ducked into a side parlor. Skye was there, sitting with a group of young women in silks, with a concerned look on her face. She smiled when she saw him, then her face fell again.

He hurried to her side and leaned down to whisper, “Come on, we’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” she repeated, too loud, but she gathered up her reticule and followed him without having to be told twice. 

“Did you talk to Lord Coulson?” she asked, as he led her quickly through the crowd and back to the foyer. A footman hurried off to get their coats.

“Yep,” he said.

“Miss Simmons and young Mr. Fitz weren’t allowed to come to the party,” she said. 

“Yep.”

The footman returned and helped Skye into her coat. “Is Miss Romanov coming with us?” she asked Clint quietly.

“She can take care of herself,” he said. “Trust me.”

+++

Clint offered to let Skye sleep on their floor for the night, but she insisted on returning home, murmuring the whole ride back to the inn about Miss Simmons and, for some reason, crop failure. She shut herself up in her carriage, too distracted to even say goodnight, and Clint was annoyed to find himself feeling protective. He paced the stables in the dark until he was reassured that nobody, especially not a creepy top-hatted aristocrat, was going to look for Skye in a place that smelled so oppressively of horse dung. 

When he came climbing back in the inn’s upstairs window, Natasha was already there, letting down her red hair from its tight curls.

“Did you talk to Coulson?” asked Clint, too tense for formalities.

“Yes,” she said placidly.

“And?” he pressed.

She cut him an exasperated look in the mottled mirror of the vanity. “Of course we’re staying,” she said. “Don’t be stupid.”

He let out a long, relieved sigh and sat down on the bed. He rubbed a hand across his face. “What did he tell you?”

“That he’s been compromised and is a lost cause,” she said. “He can’t get out without significant loss of life, including his own. You and I are assets too precious to waste on him. And so on and so forth.”

“He called us precious?” said Clint.

“More or less,” she said. She smirked over her shoulder, pulling the last of the pins out of her tumbling ringlets. “He was looking at you all night, I saw him.”

“Shut up,” groaned Clint, flopping back on the bed. “We’re in the middle of a mission. There’s no time to flirt like children.”

“I would say it’s the best time to flirt,” said Natasha.

“Well, that’s why I’m in love with Coulson and not you,” said Clint. She didn’t joke back about that one, and when he cracked an eye open, she was looking down at him sympathetically.

He sighed again. “And Skye said that Coulson’s wards weren’t ‘allowed’ to attend, because they’ve fallen ill. Even she doesn’t buy that, though, and she told me so. She’s very worried. I’m afraid she might try to do something above her pay grade.”

“We’re not paying her at all,” said Natasha dryly. “I suppose we could bring that up with Fury once this is all over.” 

“A fund for recruiting young talent might be worth it,” said Clint, thoughtful in his exhaustion. “We might have gotten you years earlier, with an incentive like that.” She shrugged. “And Coulson’s already got two wards. Maybe I should get one.”

“Skye would run you ragged. You’d have to be her chaperone to everything,” Natasha pointed out. “A beautiful girl like that is bound to have lots of suitors.”

“I think she’s only interested in one Miss Simmons,” said Clint. “That rather reduces my duties.”

Natasha stood up and started packing her makeup neatly away. “Hang up your dress clothes before you fall asleep,” she said. “I’m not ironing them in the morning.”

It took him a second to parse that. He opened one eye again. “What’s in the morning?”

“We’re going to call on Lord Stark,” she said. 

“Not for his social skills, I hope,” said Clint.

“His social skills will be useful,” countered Natasha, “but not as useful as his arms and weaponry shop.”

That made Clint sit up. “You really think this will come to that? And you think we’ll need bigger weapons than we brought with us?”

“Nothing short of an army would keep Coulson somewhere he didn’t want to be,” said Natasha. “And I’m not looking forward to meeting the army that could keep him away from you.”

+++

Skye rose early the next morning and dressed in her plain dress of everyday. She circled around to the front of the inn and asked after Mr. Barton and Miss Romanov. “I was hoping you could tell them that I’m to spend the day at Lady May’s, after returning her dress,” she told the woman at the door.

“They left before dawn to visit Lord Stark at his summer estate,” said the woman. “I’ll be sure and give them the message when they return.”

“Oh? And when will that be?”

“Tonight, or possibly tomorrow. They asked us to keep their room for them.”

“Even better,” said Skye, with a cheerful smile. 

She went back to her carriage and changed into the jacket and trousers she kept folded at the bottom of her trunk. She folded her green necklace up in a kerchief and hid it in the stuffing of one of the seats. 

Getting back out to Lord Coulson’s estate was easy; she hitched a ride part of the way on a mail carriage, then hopped off and walked the rest of the way. She took a meandering path across fallow fields and medieval stone walls. Once the great house rose up in the distance, she always kept it in her peripheral vision, but stayed low to the ground, ducking behind hedges when she could. There wasn’t a soul on the grounds outside or on the long road that led up to it. Nonetheless, Skye made a wide circle around the estate, until she was creeping up to an auxiliary cottage, vine-covered and silent, in the shadow of the manor itself.

She crouched there by the corner of the cottage for as long as she could bear, watching the windows in back of the house, murky black in the bright sunshine. There was never even a shiver of movement. The only sound was the wind in the towering oak trees.

Hands shaking, she put on her cap, tucked her long hair inside with a swift hairpin here and there, and strode out of hiding with her hands in her pockets, blinking in the sudden sun. The expected shouts and pounding of feet never came. Nor did a bustling houseservant of any kind. She reached the small back door in silence, let herself in to the low-ceilinged stone kitchen in silence, and looked around the room, uncertain now. In her recent variations of this plan, either Miss Romanov and Mr. Barton had been here to do whatever it was they did - hit people? Tie them up? - Or else Skye had been caught and arrested so quickly that no further actions were needed. But rather than being an exciting adventure novel, this was simply a well-stocked modern kitchen, with pasties cooling on a tray by the window, and freshly used dishes soaking in the sink. It felt homey. Not at all sinister and false.

A distant footstep echoed down a tiled hallway to Skye’s left. Jarred from her reverie, she darted right, through a cluttered staging room and into the long hall from the night before.

From there it was easy to retrace her steps to the front door, then creep up the carpeted stairway to the upper levels. She heard servants murmuring in happy tones in a nearby parlor and turned another way. There was another, narrower staircase at the end of the hall and Skye hurried up it, keeping away from the windows, in case there was someone on the grounds after all. At the top of that stairway was a series of smaller rooms, the doors all closed, but Skye was sure that this wasn’t it. The light she’d seen the night before had been coming from the sharply peaked roof of the attic, and the ceiling here wasn’t sloped. She only had to find the way to get up there.

A dozen white doors later, the hallway angled slightly right and came to a closed door, this one so short that Skye might have to duck to pass through it. She hesitated with her hand on the doorknob. There were no sounds from the other side. She turned to put her ear closer to the door and shrieked when a hand fell heavily on her shoulder. She stumbled into the little door, which fell inwards, revealing a small cupboard full of hand towels and sachets of musty herbs.

Lord Coulson was standing over her, hand still outstretched. “Sorry,” he said, unsmiling. “I couldn’t resist.”

+++

“So tell me again why you’re here,” said Lord Stark, tapping the edge of his whiskey glass on the table.

“An enemy of the state is living in Lord Coulson’s house,” said Natasha flatly. “We need access to your arsenal to adequately address the situation.”

“So you just want my guns,” said Lord Stark.

Clint shrugged. “And I have my eye on one of those rocket launchers you have hidden in your barn.”

Tony nodded at him. “Hm, you’ve done your homework,” he said. “Some might call that trespassing.”

Captain Rogers finally spoke up. “Tony,” he said. “You know something’s wrong with that house.”

“But is it guns-wrong?” said Lord Stark. 

Captain Rogers pursed his lips. “I thought that to you, every problem was solvable with guns.”

“Let me put it this way,” interrupted Natasha. “Mr. Barton and I have already stolen as many weapons as we can carry and transported them away from your property. This invitation is really more of a courtesy: if you lend us men and rockets, we will give you your guns back when this is over.”

“Hey,” said Lord Stark. “I like you. Also, don’t ever steal from me again.”

“It’s not stealing if we return it,” said Clint.

“Not sure that’s how it works,” said Lord Stark. “Anyway, I had already decided to help. I was just giving you a hard time. Cap here is coming too, I can already tell. Aren’t you?”

“Of course,” said Captain Rogers. “Lord Coulson and his wards are in danger.”

Lord Stark nodded. “Right. I only have one condition. We’ve got to bring along my buddy, Dr. Banner. The nicest guy, and so funny. You guys will love him.”

Clint gave Lord Stark a skeptical look. “Is he a good fighter?”

“Hell no. But he’s a doctor. Plus I told him I’d take him out this weekend. Boy, will he be surprised.”

+++

“Hey, Lord Coulson,” said Skye, with a wide, uncertain smile. “I really didn’t expect to see you.” She slid a hand back on the thin carpet, trying to reach her bag, and possibly the knife inside. She didn’t want to find out what would happen if she stabbed Mr. Barton’s dearest beloved, but she didn’t want to just lie helplessly on the floor, either. Maybe she could just point the knife at him and then run away.

“You’re Clint’s friend, from the party,” said Lord Coulson.

“Yes,” said Skye emphatically. “Uh. Who’s Clint?”

Lord Coulson shook his head, actually smiling, and said, “Come with me, right now.”

She stared up at him. He held out a hand and raised his eyebrows expectantly. She shrugged, let him pull her upright, and scooped her bag off the floor as discreetly as possible. He was staring back the way Skye had come, down the narrow and empty hallway. 

“You can hand me that knife, though,” he added, without even looking. 

She silently put the knife in his waiting hand. He pocketed it and opened the nearest white door. “In here,” he said.

Skye hesitated. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather-“

“It’s not all the same,” he said, clipped. “If my uncle finds you here, you’ll either die or be rewritten.”

Skye followed him in.

It was a small single bedroom, painted white, the ceiling sloping down toward the side of the house. Skye couldn’t tell if anyone lived here or not. Lord Coulson sat on the edge of the only bed and pointed at the solitary chair. Skye shut the door behind her and sat down.

“There isn’t much time,” said Lord Coulson. “For you, I mean. Why did you come here? Did Clint send you?”

“Is Clint Mr. Barton?” asked Skye. “And, no. Nobody sent me.”

Lord Coulson smiled again, as if there was anything funny going on. “Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov are very, very good at what they do. If you think that you’re here in service of their mission by your choice, you’re amusingly mistaken.”

“They came to the ball in service of my mission,” argued Skye, which made Lord Coulson laugh out loud. She grinned despite herself, but insisted, “They did! I need to talk to your ward. Miss Jemma Simmons.”

Lord Coulson paused and gave her a funny look. “Wait. That’s a new one.”

Skye shrugged. “Well, it’s true. I also figured that if I saw you - which I was hoping not to, sorry - and you didn’t have me arrested, I would give you a speech about how much Mr. Barton loves you and needs you to come home. But that can wait until after I see Miss Simmons. It’s very important.”

Lord Coulson was staring at her now with a strange, uncertain look on his face. 

“Please. You knew that Mr. Barton loves you,” said Skye. “Lord Stark even mentioned it to me at the party last night, and I didn’t think he ever noticed anything but guns, Captain Rogers, and his own magnificence.”

Lord Coulson closed his eyes for a moment, frowned, and held up a finger. “What’s important about meeting Miss Simmons?”

Skye sighed. This again. “You live with her, you must know how wonderful she is,” said Skye, exasperated. “I used to be shy to say it, but obviously no one in this town understands. I have a terrible passion for her and I’d like to tell her so. Privately, I hope. There’s really no one else that matters.”

Lord Coulson kept frowning. “Although I’ve seen you in town, and heard people complaining about your nosiness-“

“Thirst for knowledge is a virtue-“ Skye countered.

“I am almost certain that you’ve never met either of my wards.”

Now it was Skye’s turn to frown. “No, of course not.”

“Of course not?”

“I’ve only lived in Crofton for a few months, Lord Coulson,” said Skye slowly. “And since I was never invited to your house until last night, and Miss Simmons hasn’t come down to the town since my arrival . . . ?” She raised her eyebrows. 

“How do you know that she’s wonderful?” asked Lord Coulson.

Skye thought about it. “I just know,” she said. “Is that so unusual?”

“Yes,” said Lord Coulson.

“You mean, about your Mr. Barton, you didn’t just know?”

Lord Coulson pointed at her. “Now that’s beside the point.”

Skye tossed up her hands. “So what is the point? Why are we whispering in some poor girl’s bedroom?”

Lord Coulson leaned forward. “When, exactly, did you come to Crofton?”

“Months ago, like I said.”

“How many months? How many days?”

“I don’t remember,” said Skye. 

“How did you arrive? By carriage? On horseback? Did you walk?”

“The usual way, I think,” said Skye. “Whatever that is. I think it was raining? I was cold.”

“Why did you come to Crofton?”

“To meet Miss Simmons,” she said, with certainty.

“Miss Skye, are you listening to yourself?” asked Lord Coulson patiently. “You must see how strange this all is.”

“Strange like you knowing my name even though I didn’t tell you?” said Skye.

They stared at each other. 

“You have me there,” said Lord Coulson slowly. “Perhaps I heard it from someone?”

“Nope, you didn’t,” said Skye. “Now you’re sounding like me.”

Lord Coulson’s brow wrinkled. He had a great concerned face. 

“So, while you’re pondering,” said Skye. “Where does Miss Simmons live?”

“In the attic, presently,” said Lord Coulson. “With Leo.”

“Why? Did you put her there?”

“My uncle,” said Lord Coulson, still not looking up from his thoughts. “They were drawing too much attention from the townsfolk. Building electric machines. Curing people’s gout. He said they just needed some time to adjust.”

“He sounds awfully sinister, your uncle,” said Skye. “And if he catches me, is he going to make me ‘adjust’?”

Lord Coulson look up decisively. “Most likely,” he said, standing. “And that’s exactly why you should go speak with Miss Simmons. Right now. If she’s the only thing you remember, it’s probably the last thing he would want.”

Skye let Lord Coulson check the hallway before they hurried out the door. But instead of rushing to a staircase, Lord Coulson just led Skye into the room across the hall. It was identical to the one they’d just exited, but in place of the narrow wardrobe, there was a small door that had been wallpapered over and recently cut loose again. 

There was a sign hanging on the door. NO SERVANTS, it read. FAMILY MEMBERS ONLY. 

Lord Coulson stared at it as if seeing it for the first time. 

“That’s awful,” said Skye. “No visitors except for him and you? Just for doing science and helping the townsfolk?”

“It’s been really dreadful,” said Lord Coulson, with a quiet, dawning misery. “I don’t think I realized how bad it had gotten here.”

“You don’t even have an uncle, do you,” said Skye. 

“No, I don’t think so,” said Lord Coulson. He put a hand on the doorknob. “Hurry. Before he comes home.”

+++

“I don’t know,” said Dr. Banner. “I really don’t know. I have patients to see this evening.”

“Come on, I’ll definitely get injured on this dumb mission, and then you can see to me,” argued Lord Stark. “Come on, it will be fun.”

“We don’t have time for this, Lord Stark,” said Clint. “We need to act tonight.”

“I think it sounds splendid,” said a voice from inside the apothecary. “We should all join!”

“Who is that?” asked Clint. 

“My assistant,” said Dr. Banner with a sigh. “Well, he’s married to my assistant, Jane. His name is Thor. He’s Norwegian. And I can’t convince him he doesn’t work for me.”

Thor had to duck a little to step out onto the porch, and Natasha raised her eyebrows, impressed. He was over six feet tall with a long, blond ponytail. He grinned effusively.

“When is this battle?” he asked. “May I join you?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Natasha. “You know how to use a gun?”

Dr. Banner covered his eyes with one hand. “This is a terrible idea.”

“Glad you like it,” said Lord Stark, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now get your carriage. This is going to be the best night ever.”

+++

Behind the wallpapered door was a narrow wooden stairway which led up and up and let out into a small room, chilly, airy, and dark. Skye hesitated at the top of the steps and looked around. Three bare wooden walls met the sharply sloping roof, so low that Skye had to bend slightly. The only light came from the eaves at Skye’s feet.

“Lord Coulson, it’s empty,” she called back down the stairwell. “Have they gone?”

“Oh!” came a voice from nowhere. “Sir! Have you brought a guest?”

Skye turned. The far wall shuddered suddenly, then crumpled to one side, and Miss Jemma Simmons stepped into view. She was wearing a black dress with white lace trim and her hair was pinned back in an impeccable bun. “Good afternoon! Are you another of his lordship’s friends?” she asked eagerly, and then craned around Skye to look down the stairwell at Lord Coulson, who had nearly reached the top. “Sir, is your uncle going to allow us downstairs soon? I really need to collect more samples from the garden before the rain comes back.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Lord Coulson. “Skye?”

Skye realized that she was staring at Miss Simmons and blocking Coulson’s ascent. “Oh! Sorry,” she said, and hurried up the last few steps, ducking past the low ceiling and rushing to Miss Simmons’s side. “Um, hi. Hello, I mean.” She stuck out a hand.

Miss Simmons gave her a pleasant, if bemused, smile. Skye smiled back.

“You don’t know me, but . . .”

Miss Simmons raised her eyebrows. “But?” she prompted helpfully.

Suddenly everything Skye had been telling complete strangers sounded a little crazy. Still, Skye couldn’t help but feel that standing here and shaking Miss Simmons’s hand was the best thing she had done in a long, long time.

“But my name’s Skye,” she finished, a little weakly.

Miss Simmons beamed and pumped her hand. “I’m Jemma Simmons. And you’re Skye! Such a pretty name, and such a pretty face, too. Of course I’d be glad to see any face, even yours, sir; after having been up here with Leo for three days.”

“Hey!” said Lord Coulson, in unison with another voice from deeper in the attic.

Miss Simmons turned away from Skye and sighed. “Oh, Fitz, you know I’m only joking,” she called.

Skye finally looked past Miss Simmons and saw that the wooden wall that had fallen away was actually some kind of curtain, shot through with fat copper wires. Beyond that was an enormous room that must have encompassed nearly the full square footage of the manor. It was organized almost like a university laboratory. Between the heavy wooden beams supporting the roof, wooden tables were lined up in uniform rows, and every surface was covered in wires, beakers, potted plants, bolts of fabric, big jars full of ghostly organs, and many, many items that Skye couldn’t even name. Everything was lit with stark electrical light in a rainbow of colors, and fat bulbs hung from every rafter and column. There were bookcases full of books and papers and overflowing folios.

In the center of it all stood a young man in a stiff-collared shirt. He had a penknife in one hand and a glass flask full of sizzling liquid in the other. He was frowning ferociously at Skye.

“Were you . . . going to attack me with that?” Skye asked before she could help it.

“I could have,” he said defensively. “Sir, who is this?”

“She’s a friend,” said Lord Coulson. “Well. Sort of. She’s a minion of my ex-colleague.”

“Colleague, huh?” said Skye. “I’ll let the minion slide.” Lord Coulson rolled his eyes.

“Well, I suppose if she’s a friend,” muttered the young man. He set down the flask and popped a cork in the top. “My name is Leo Fitz. Just call me Fitz,” he added. “Don’t touch anything. Any one of these things could kill you.”

“Dramatic,” chided Miss Simmons. “Come, have a seat, all of you. Sir? Won’t you stay?”

Lord Coulson shook his head. “If I’m gone to long I’ll be missed. I just wanted to see what would happen when Skye finally met you. She’s been telling everyone that it’s her destiny.”

Skye meant to object to the word destiny, but when she looked back at Miss Simmons’s uncertain face, all her comebacks left her. “I know it sounds crazy,” she said apologetically. “But I came here to meet you. I just have this incredible feeling that you’re . . . the most important person I could ever meet.” She bit her lip and suppressed another apology. She was standing in a room full of impossible inventions; this could hardly be the most unusual thing Miss Simmons had ever heard.

“I see,” said Miss Simmons, and her smile faltered. “Well! I’m very glad you’re here.” She gave Skye an awkward smile.

Skye nodded back and bit her lip, hard.

“Well,” said Lord Coulson, after a moment. “That doesn’t exactly answer our questions.”

“What questions?” asked Fitz. 

Lord Coulson didn’t answer, just looked thoughtfully at Skye. She blurted, “I really thought something would happen. I don’t know why.”

Miss Simmons blushed a little. “We just met,” she said.

“Oh, dear,” said Skye. “That’s not what I meant! This is all wrong! Was there something I was supposed to do but I didn’t? I came to the right place . . . I saw her . . . I told her . . . What else is there?”

Suddenly Miss Simmons, Lord Coulson, and Fitz all tensed and looked toward the stairs.

“He’s home already?” whispered Fitz.

Lord Coulson was already headed for the top of the stairs. “I’ll head him off. But Skye, he can’t find you here. As soon as they tell you it’s safe, you have to get out.” Before Skye could reply, Lord Coulson was gone, and Fitz was drawing the false wall back into place. He flipped a switch and a very faint humming noise started up. 

Miss Simmons looked pale. Fitz tapped the back of the wall-curtain, which was mazed with shining wires. “It’s electrified,” he explained to Skye. “The current makes it change color and pattern according to its surroundings. It’s modeled on the skin of an octopus. But it mostly just does wood right now. It’s a work in progress.”

“Cool,” said Skye. 

“Yeah?” he said.

“Yeah,” she said. “I mean it. That’s really clever.”

He preened a little. “Jemma is very clever as well,” he said. “She dissected the octopus in the first place. If you’re going to court her, you ought to know ahead of time that she is much smarter than you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Skye. She looked back at Miss Simmons. “I’m really sorry. I really am. I thought that . . . I guess I thought you would know me when you saw me, too.”

“Don’t feel bad, please,” said Miss Simmons. “I’m so relieved you’re here. I don’t remember you, but I’m quite sure I’ve been waiting for something. Maybe that something was you.”

“Waiting for something?” said Fitz. 

Miss Simmons sighed. “Doesn’t it feel interminable to you, Fitz? Living here in this attic and listening to the world beneath our feet? I feel as though we should be wandering the world, somewhere in the sun, without a single uncle to be found. I felt that way even before we were sent to the attic.”

“I don’t know, I rather like it here,” said Fitz. Miss Simmons looked despairing. “But some sun would be nice,” he agreed quickly. “And I’m not at all fond of-“ he dropped his voice to a whisper- “Lord Coulson’s uncle.”

“I don’t think he’s really anyone’s uncle,” said Skye daringly. “I think he’s here to keep Lord Coulson under control.”

“Well, of course,” said Miss Simmons. 

“Oh,” said Skye. “You knew that?”

“We live here,” she said. “Of course we know there’s something terribly off about him. Lord Coulson is around him much more often, and I think it’s very hard for him to think for himself sometimes, the poor man. Half of what Fitz and I do up here is trying to find a way to break the spell, so to speak. The other half is mostly fiddling around and inventing things. But what am I saying? Come sit down. Come to think of it, your compulsion to meet me sounds awfully like the pull Lord Coulson’s uncle has on him. I think you should tell me everything you know, please.”

Skye let herself be ushered to a stiff-backed chair. “Everything?” she said, smiling. “Because I know an awful lot.”

Turned out, when Skye told the whole story over again, she knew almost nothing at all. All she and Lord Coulson had been able to agree on was how much they didn’t know. But Miss Simmons and Fitz nodded at each other eagerly and seemed to find all the uncertainty invigorating.

She said, “I hadn’t considered the possibility that more than just Lord Coulson’s uncle might be a fabrication-“

Fitz interjected, “But if a similar mental compulsion brought you here to Crofton, Miss Skye-“

“One can’t help but wonder if you’re valuable in some way to the uncle, as well.” 

Skye shook her head. “He didn’t seem very interested in me at the party.”

“Well, he’s a duplicitous man,” said Fitz.

“If he is a man,” said Miss Simmons. 

Fitz confided to Skye, “I’m not sure what else he could be, but Jemma thinks he might be some kind of spirit.”

“Spirits don’t exist,” objected Miss Simmons. “Fitz, we’ve talked about this. He’s a physical manifestation of a malicious willpower. Perhaps.”

“Controlled by someone?” said Skye. “Someone who wants to control Lord Coulson?”

“Precisely,” said Miss Simmons.

“But who would want to control Lord Coulson?” asked Fitz. “He’s rather bland. Ow! I don’t mean that unkindly! He’s a very nice bland.”

“He took us in when we had no one but each other,” scolded Miss Simmons.

“Took you in from where?” asked Skye.

Miss Simmons sighed. “Well, it’s funny that you should ask.”

“We don’t remember, either,” said Fitz. 

“Of course we don’t,” sighed Miss Simmons. “And I’m ashamed to say I never noticed our missing memories until you told your story just now.”

Skye said pensively, “It seems that the only people I’ve met who do remember their past are Miss Romanov and Mr. Barton,” she said. 

“Who are they?” asked Miss Simmons.

“Mr. Barton. Is that the man I’ve heard Lord Coulson mention?” asked Fitz.

“Probably,” said Skye. “Mr. Barton is terribly in love with Lord Coulson. They might have once been courting. He and Miss Romanov specifically told me that they worked for many years alongside his lordship, as spies. They wouldn’t tell me much more, of course. I wonder if they know any more than that, themselves.”

“Spies!” said Fitz.

“A man could make a lot of enemies that way,” said Skye. “And until we can ask Lord Coulson about it, we can’t know how many people might benefit from his house arrest.”

“But who would benefit from our house arrest?” asked Miss Simmons. “Fitz and I are hardly spies.” 

Skye looked around their laboratory. “I would venture that either he wants to prevent you from discovering something with all your devices . . .”

“Or do you think he wants us to discover something?” finished Miss Simmons, eyes wide. “Oh, my goodness. I should hide our notes.”

“I don’t know what he wants,” said Skye, frustrated. “I just don’t have enough information. If I had time, I would find out about Lord Coulson’s uncle’s life, who he communicates with, because there must be someone, who Lord Coulson’s enemies are, what they could want . . .”

“There’s always time,” soothed Miss Simmons. “You can begin as soon as you get back to town.”

“And we’ll talk to Lord Coulson,” said Fitz. “And then you can come back and talk it over with us.”

Skye smiled despite her worry. “You two don’t seem too upset over this.”

Fitz raised his hand. “Oh, I’m upset.”

Miss Simmons said, “Fitz and I like to feel useful,” she said, with a wry smile. “As frightening as it is to live here as captives, it’s rather invigorating to have a purpose, now.”

Skye looked at the angle of the light coming in the tiny west-facing window. “If Miss Romanov and Mr. Barton are returning to the inn today, I imagine they’ll be back before long. I’ll ask them for a list of Lord Coulson’s enemies. Secretive as they are, I think they’ll help me if I tell them what we’ve found.”

“And we’ll investigate Lord Coulson’s uncle,” said Fitz. “He said we might be allowed downstairs tonight, for dinner. We can ask some discreet questions.”

“Maybe we should leave the discreet questions to his lordship, Fitz,” said Simmons dubiously. “After all, he was a spy, once.”

“Do remember that his mind is also suspect,” said Skye cautiously. “I’ll try to do the same as I interview Mr. Barton and Miss Romanov.”

“Of course,” said Miss Simmons. “And there’s also the possibility that you yourself are a manifestation, like Lord Coulson’s uncle, sent here to charm me for some nefarious reason.”

Skye’s eyes widened. “Oh! No, I promise I’m not.”

Miss Simmons smiled. “I know, I don’t really believe that. One must consider it, though.”

“Well . . .” said Skye. “Is it working? The charm?”

“Oh!” said Miss Simmons, blushing. Skye beamed at her. “Miss Skye, there’s no time for that now.”

“But there will be time later,” added Skye hopefully.

“Yes,” said Miss Simmons softly. “After we’ve solved all this.”

A creaking sound from the stairs made all three of them turn. The stiff curtains were still drawn around the top of the stairwell and they couldn’t see anything but shadows and wires. 

“Lord Coulson?” called Miss Simmons tentatively. “Sir?”

The room was silent.

“You two stay here,” said Skye. She picked up a screwdriver from one of the tables. “I’ll see what it is.”

“You should hide,” hissed Fitz. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“There’s no need,” came a deep voice like a muddy river. “I’ve already found you.”

The uncle came drifting out of a shadowy corner, on the opposite side of the room from the stairwell. He was wearing the same black tailcoat and tall top hat as the night before at the party. His face seemed more lined, but that might only be the shadows, playing too quickly across his features. 

“Sir,” said Miss Simmons, voice shaking. “We didn’t hear you come in.”

“I told you no visitors,” he said, without emotion. His dark eyes were fixed on Skye. He took one silent step after another, inexorable.

“We’re really sorry, sir,” said Fitz. “She was just leaving.”

The uncle ignored him. “You’re a nuisance, a terrible nuisance,” he said calmly to Skye. “We told you not to come. You never do as you’re told.”

Skye kept backing up, screwdriver in hand, until she bumped against Fitz’s heavy curtains by the stairs. The uncle kept coming. Behind the uncle, Fitz raised a heavy wrench and bit his lip bravely, but the uncle merely raised a hand and Fitz gasped in pain. The wrench fell from his hand, red-hot, and hissed on the floorboards. Miss Simmons rushed to Fitz’s side.

“You never told me anything,” said Skye, as the uncle got closer. “What are you talking about? We never spoke.”

“You had no purpose and yet you refused to die,” said the uncle.

“Okay, you’re creeping me out,” she said. 

He glided up close to her and gently rested a gloved hand on her throat. “Nuisance,” he murmured. 

“Jesus,” said Skye, and ducked sideways out of his grip. He turned slowly, as he did everything else, and as he turned she kicked him in the knee and sent him stumbling into the curtain. It swayed on its rods. Skye slapped a hand down on the button that turned it on and watched electricity spark through its wires.

The uncle screamed, a shrill, artificial noise like a tea kettle, and collapsed to the floor, breaking into fragments of dark light. It a moment, he was gone, and the curtain swung back into place, still humming.

“Oh, my God,” said Miss Simmons. She was still huddled with Fitz, pressing a wet rag to the palm of his hand. His cheeks were wet.

“Go get Barton and Romanov,” he called to Skye, fiercely. “Tell them to come over here right now.” 

Skye hesitated. “We’ll be fine,” insisted Miss Simmons. “Go!”

Skye turned the curtain off again and pushed it aside. But before Skye could close it behind herself, Miss Simmons blurted, “and, and I’m very sorry!”

Skye poked her head back around the curtain. “Sorry for what?” she asked. Although, there were a lot of things, really. Not least of them being almost strangled by her sort-of uncle.

“For not remembering you,” said Miss Simmons. “I really am. I feel that I should.”

“Well, maybe that’s something,” Skye pointed out. 

“I suppose you’re right,” said Miss Simmons, with a faint smile. “Now, go on. Get out of here.”

Skye ran down the steps and didn’t stop running until she was in the empty fields a half a mile away. She didn’t meet any servants on the way down. She didn’t meet a single soul.

 

“Oh, thank goodness, you’re back,” said Skye, bursting into their room.

Clint and Natasha’s bed was covered in weapons and Clint slowly lowered his crossbow from where it was pointed at Skye’s heart. “Uh,” he said. Natasha didn’t even look up, just kept loading rifles into her canvas bag.

Skye hesitated and said, “So . . . Did I miss something?”

“Coulson’s uncle is evil,” said Natasha, as Clint set his crossbow down on the bed. “We’re going to go eliminate him. If that’s what it takes.”

“Sorry for pulling on you,” added Clint. “You startled us.”

“She startled you,” corrected Natasha with a smirk.

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Skye again, flopping down on the little wooden chair. She already seemed to have accepted the huge pile of weapons and moved on. The kid was adaptable, Clint would give her that. “Thank goodness, thank goodness. And here I thought I’d have to explain this a third time today. He’s evil, and probably not a real person. More like a ghost, but ghosts aren’t real. That’s what Miss Simmons said.”

“Oh, you met her?” said Clint, grinning. “How did it go?”

“Terribly,” said Skye. “And wonderfully. She’s very beautiful, and so smart. She doesn’t remember me. But we can work on that.”

“I wish you the best,” said Natasha. 

“Aw, thanks,” said Skye.

“But we have to leave now,” she continued firmly. “We’re meeting the others at the gatehouse. May, Ward, Stark, and half the town. I’d rather you stay here, for your safety. You don’t have the training.”

“No way,” said Skye. “I promised Miss Simmons. But oh! I have to get dressed! Don’t leave without me, I’ll be ten minutes!” She rushed out of the room. Natasha gave Clint an exasperated look.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” he said. “You told me to adopt her.”

+++

“And this is the flint, and this is your ball, and this is the rod you use to tamp it,” Mr. Ward was saying. “With your lack of training, your range of accuracy will be short, but thankfully we’ll be indoors.”

“Thankfully,” said Skye dubiously, taking the pistol from his hand. She aimed it experimentally at the mossy wall of the manor. “Can I borrow a weapon I don’t have to reload? A knife, perhaps?”

Mr. Ward sighed and handed over a long, wicked-looking knife, handle first. Skye stuck the pistol in the belt around her waist. She was wearing the same trousers from earlier, but she’d pinned her hair in an attractive yet sensible way, and her emerald necklace glittered around her throat under the heavy fabric of her men’s shirt. She wasn’t going to go into battle without her good luck necklace. Besides, maybe Miss Simmons would like it.

Skye tossed the knife from hand to hand. “I like this knife.”

“Don’t juggle it. Thrust into the stomach and upwards. And if anyone gets your weapon away from you, run, or they’ll use it on you,” said Ward.

Skye waggled the knife at him in a non-threatening manner. “Bet you wish you’d spent more time talking to me in town,” she said. “Training me up.”

“I wish you didn’t have to be here at all,” said Mr. Ward seriously. “This fight isn’t for you.”

“The man tried to strangle me,” protested Skye. “It’s my fight now.”

“Ward’s right,” said Mr. Barton, striding over. He was dressed in an elaborate leather harness covered in short knives and had a quiver and bow slung over his back. He looked like an assassin, and Skye was startled to realize that all this time, she’d still been thinking of him as the slightly goofy guest at the inn. Not anymore. Mr. Barton gave Mr. Ward an approving once-over, but frowned when he looked at Skye. 

“Stay at the back,” he said finally. “If I tell you not to come in at all you’ll only do something stupid and get yourself killed.”

Skye held up her hands. “Hey. Not dying is my first priority, here,” she said.

“Good.” He turned away.

“And the evil uncle actually seemed to like talking to me,” Skye added quickly. “Well. He wanted to say something in particular, which is that I’m a nuisance.”

“The more I hear about this man, the more I like him,” said Mr. Ward dryly.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Mr. Barton told her. “Skye. Stay safe, and stay back.” He stalked away, back to Miss Romanov and the men.

“Of course,” said Skye.

And of course when they all went rushing in, she ran right for the attic steps and didn’t look back.

+++

When Clint arrived, Coulson was standing over his uncle in the blue parlor with a pistol trained on his head. The uncle looked like little more than a pile of old coats with a hat on top, but Clint could see it shifting slightly, breathing. Coulson’s hand on the gun was steady.

“Oh, good,” said Tony, clapping his hands together. “You took care of it. Well, see you all at the next party. It’ll be at my house. You’re all maybe invited.”

Clint could already tell that something was wrong. Coulson was tense, even for the situation, and he didn’t have his back to a wall. He had his back to the window, facing instead a narrow, dark hallway that led deeper into the house. 

“What? What is it?” Tony was demanding, but Clint was already heading down that hallway, a knife in each hand. A cold, clammy draft was seeping across the floor, here. Clint couldn’t see where the hallway ended.

“They keep coming out of the basement,” said Coulson behind him. Clint stopped to listen, but kept staring into the shadows, knives raised. “Lots of . . . uncles. It sounds crazy, I know.” He was trying for self-deprecating.

“Yeah, I’d say that’s a little crazy,” Tony agreed. Clint heard him pull a gun out of his belt and cock it. “Crazy seems to be the word of the day, though.”

“How many?” said Natasha briskly. “Are they armed?”

“No weapons. They don’t really seem to have bodies, though? They can kind of go through you, and it feels awful. And they can grip you really, really hard.”

Something in Coulson’s voice. Clint backed out of the black hallway and stowed his knives, stepped over the shivering pile of uncle on the floor, and tilted up Coulson’s chin with his hand. “Where?” he said. “Is it bad?”

Natasha was looking at them steadily from her position covering the hallway. Clint knew that if he got too distracted, she was going to separate them. But she hadn’t shaken her head yet.

Coulson didn’t pull free of Clint’s hand, and just said calmly, “I’m fine, Clint.”

That was enough for Clint to get a read on him, though. “Your left shoulder,” he said. “Better let someone else cover this asshole.”

“I’ve got him,” said Colonel Rhodes, taking up position on Coulson’s right. “Lord Coulson, Dr. Banner is waiting outside. You should go let him check you out.”

“No time,” said Coulson, but he did lower his weapon, favoring his left side. “They’ve been coming in waves. Every two minutes. Fitz and Simmons took care of the last wave, but I sent them back upstairs.”

“How long ago?” said Natasha. There was a gravelly hissing noise coming from the hallway now. Clint and Coulson both raised their weapons, shoulder to injured shoulder. 

“About two minutes ago,” said Coulson. “Give or take.”

All in a rush, the things came flooding out.

+++

At first they still looked mostly human. Clint took them out one by one by one, arrows at first, then once he emptied his quiver, throwing daggers. Tony was able to take out several at a time with his big guns, but only if he kept everyone else out of the crossfire. Coulson stayed at Clint’s shoulder, stabbing the ones that got close enough with one of Clint’s knives, sometimes kicking them down to the floor so Colonel Rhodes could shoot them. It was nice, Clint thought, to be working with Coulson again. They could read each others’ attacks with the same old intuition, and when Natasha somersaulted over and covered Coulson’s other side, it was almost like old times.

The attack lasted five minutes, Clint reckoned, and they kept them bottled up in the blue parlor, and then it was over. They’d taken out maybe fifty of them. Their bodies turned to vapor after they hit the ground, though, so it was hard to keep track.

As soon as the last one got put down and quiet descended again, Clint started grabbing his arrows up off the floor. “You coming, sir?” he said.

“Coming where?” said Tony suspiciously. 

Coulson sighed, but he didn’t say no. He started reloading his pistol, holding his left hand gingerly.

“Down the hall,” said Clint. “We’ve got to take them out at the source.”

“If you’re not back before I see another one of those things, I’m coming in too,” said Natasha.

“Me too. I’m with her,” said Tony. 

“Clint, you take point,” said Coulson, without looking up at him. Clint grinned so hard his face hurt. 

“Cover my back, sir?” said Clint. 

Coulson looked up and smiled, actually smiled, with the little dimples and everything. “Since I find myself finally unchaperoned, I think I actually can,” he said. “It’s good to have you back, Barton.”

“You too, sir,” said Clint, allowing himself one touch: he reached out and straightened Coulson’s lapel. “I mean it.”

Together, they turned and walked into the dark.

+++

“Miss Simmons,” called Skye, bursting through the door at the bottom of the attic steps. “Miss Simmons! Fitz!” She raced upwards. She had passed little piles of ash on her way through the empty house, and she gripped the knife Ward had given her, ready to use it on anything that stood between her and Miss Simmons.

Upstairs, the concealing curtain was crumpled to one side, and Skye had a brief moment of panic, but then she saw Fitz and Miss Simmons at the far side of the gloomy attic, frantically working over a wooden table.

“Skye!” shouted Fitz, waving his heavily bandaged hand. “Over here! Hurry!”

They were carefully filling glass tubes with phosphorescent liquid. Miss Simmons poured from a fluted glass decanter while Fitz steadied the tray full of dozens of vials. When Miss Simmons’s hand shook slightly and a few drops landed on the table, they hissed and glittered, then vanished, leaving tiny black dots seared into the wood. “It’s mostly harmless to humans,” said Miss Simmons, apologetically. She finished filling the tray and set down the decanter while Fitz plugged all the vials with his good hand. “If you break a vial on one of them, though, it burns them and they disintegrate.”

“Oh, them? So there’s more of him,” said Skye. “Wonderful.”

“Yes,” said Fitz. “There were several hundred. Lord Coulson is holding them off while we make more of these. Is he-?” He looked at her, anxious.

“I didn’t see him,” Skye admitted. “But I’m sure he’s fine.”

“He has to be,” said Miss Simmons firmly. Her cheeks looked damp, and she looked intently down at the vials, turning them this way and that in their tray. Skye touched her hand lightly. 

“Hey, we can fight this,” she said quietly. “We’ve done it before, haven’t we?”

Miss Simmons finally looked at her, brow creased in confusion. “Do you think so?” she turned her hand over, clasping Skye’s, and Skye stared unseeing into Miss Simmons’s face. They must have worked together before, but she couldn’t grasp the memory, and the more she tried, the more lost she felt. Why had she come to look for this girl? She had told Mr. Barton that she loved her, but she couldn’t conjure even the ghost of a feeling anymore.

“I don’t know,” Skye admitted. “Miss Simmons, I-“

“What is that?” said Miss Simmons suddenly. Her hand flew to Skye’s throat, and Skye jolted back, but Miss Simmons just touched Skye’s green necklace, tugging lightly on the pendant in the center.

“What? What is it?” said Fitz, panicky, and ducked around to Skye’s other side to look. “What is it? A necklace?”

“It’s not really emerald, it’s only glass,” said Skye nervously, feeling Miss Simmons’s fingers at her throat. Fitz and Miss Simmons were both leaning in and staring. It was pretty weird.

“It’s not only glass,” said Miss Simmons thoughtfully. “It’s something else, too.”

“Okay,” said Skye. 

Miss Simmons lightly rested one hand on the side of Skye’s neck and with the other she tapped the center pendant with her thumbnail, once, twice, and then dug into a crack in the glass, and the top of the pendant popped off and tumbled to the table. 

“It’s a container,” said Fitz, nonplussed.

“It is?” said Skye, trying to look down at it without knocking heads with either of them.

“It is,” said Miss Simmons wonderingly. “It’s the cure.”

“What cure?” said Skye. “Wait. That sounds important.”

“I remember now,” said Miss Simmons, starting to wave her hands at Fitz. “I remember!” She gently unhooked the clasp at Skye’s nape, lifted the necklace free, and stared wonderingly down into the tiny bottle that was the pendant of Skye’s necklace.

“I made the contents of this bottle and gave it to you, Skye,” said Miss Simmons excitedly. “Well, I left it for you, back in the real world. The waking world. I knew you’d be able to find me in here and help me cure everyone.”

“I’m not following,” said Skye. “But I’m trying?”

Fitz raised his hands. “I, for one, have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said. “Jemma, are you feeling well?”

“Very well,” said Simmons. Miss Simmons, Skye corrected herself. Although that didn’t seem right. “Fitz, drink this,” said Simmons, and pushed the green vial towards him.

“Of course not,” said Fitz uncertainly. “Who knows where Skye’s been.”

“Hey!” said Skye.

“Fitz, you trust me, don’t you?” said Simmons sternly. “Take a drink. It can’t run out. Go ahead.”

Fizt frowned at the necklace, then back at Simmons, and took the vial from her. “Here goes nothing,” he mumbled. He took one sip of the vial, made a face, and said, “There, nothing happened.”

Simmons took the vial back from him. 

“Oh,” he said, and melted away into the dusty air, with a thoughtful expression on his face.

He didn’t come back. The attic was much quieter, and Skye could hear the sounds of fighting downstairs.

“Is he all right?” said Skye, finally starting to panic a little. “Is he coming back?”

“No, and he’s safer where he is,” said Miss Simmons. She capped the pendant and put the necklace in one of her spacious dress pockets, then began quickly filling the other pocket with the glowing glass tubes from the work table. “You really don’t remember?” 

“Hey, that’s my line,” said Skye weakly. 

“Take these,” said Miss Simmons, pushing several vials into Skye’s hands. “We have to get everyone to drink from the necklace. Fitz will need someone to protect him when he wakes up.”

“Wakes up where,” said Skye, but Simmons was already rushing toward the attic stairs.

+++

The first person they encountered was Captain Rogers, soundly beating one of the uncles in the servants’ quarters. Skye flung a vial at the uncle and it shrieked and disappeared. Simmons tried to convince the Captain to drink from the necklace, but he just looked alarmed, until Skye interrupted with, “Fitz is in trouble and needs your help. Drink this.”

He drank it right away, and vanished even more quickly than Fitz had. Skye had to catch the necklace as it fell through thin air from his hand.

In the Green Bedroom, Dr. Banner was taking swings at two uncles with an iron poker, to Skye’s surprise. She and Simmons attacked one while Thor dispatched the other, and this time Simmons let Skye do the sales pitch. They both vanished neatly. Just as Simmons had said, the pendant didn’t seem to be running out of cure. 

“I know, it’s because it’s not really a physical substance, it’s more like a computer code that makes your glands produce the right enzymes to disengage the virtual reality,” said Simmons, as they rushed down the stairs. “Although it’s based on a real liquid back in my lab in real life.”

“It’s a good thing I like you a lot,” said Skye. “Because that doesn’t make any sense.” There was that old feeling again, as Simmons went running around a corner and mashed a phosphorescent vial into an uncle’s face with a shriek. Even the way she killed monsters was adorable. Maybe that was just the enzymes talking, though.

Colonel Rhodes was in the ballroom with Ward and Lady May. From the ashy taste in the air, they had just finished dispatching a whole host of uncles. Ward took his cure immediately, and Lady May watched his disappearance with grim determination and then knocked hers back, too. Colonel Rhodes refused to take his until Lord Stark agreed to. They took a detour to kill an uncle in the kitchen and talk Lord Stark into it.

“Pseudomedical witchcraft,” he said, pointing at Simmons accusingly. 

“It’s just science, my lord,” she said exasperatedly. “You love science.”

“Just drink it, Tony,” said Colonel Rhodes. “Ward and May already took theirs and they’re off fighting the real evil right now.”

“I think,” added Simmons in a small voice.

“Good enough for me,” said Lord Stark. “I’ll drink anything once.” He and Colonel Rhodes bickered about drinks as they faded out together. The kitchen was very, very quiet.

“I see you met your Miss Simmons,” said Miss Romanov, from behind them. 

She was holding her side awkwardly. “Are you all right?” said Skye. “Is that blood?”

“I’ll be fine. Give me my dose,” she said, nodding at the pendant in Simmons’s hand. “I heard what you said.”

“Then you also heard that we don’t know exactly-“ 

“Don’t try to talk her out of it,” interrupted Skye. “Not when she’s bleeding.”

“Right, of course,” said Simmons. She handed over the vial.

“Coulson and Clint are in the basement,” said Natasha, clutching the necklace in one hand. “It’s been fifteen minutes and they haven’t come back up. I’ll deliver the cure to them. You drink yours and get to safety.”

“Nope,” said Skye. She held up a fistful of phosphorescent vials from her pocket. “These will take care of the uncles. We’re going down with you.”

Natasha looked like she might be in a lot of pain, but she led the way down the steps to the cellar, with the pendant in one hand and a long, curved knife in the other. 

As they descended, the basement walls got smoother, and the air drier, which seemed wrong to Skye. At the bottom of the steps was a concrete-floored room with fluorescent lighting. That seemed wrong too, but also familiar. 

Clint and Coulson were standing in the middle of a ring of uncles, back to back, and more of the uncles kept pouring out of a dark space under the stairs. “Ugh,” said Skye, and threw half her vials into the blackest corner she could bear to look at. The things shrieked weakly and melted away in bursts of glitter and ash. Natasha took out one after another with her knife while Simmons hovered and threw a carefully-aimed vial here and there. In just a few minutes, they were all gone.

Natasha eyed the place under the stairs. “Better drink up before they come back,” she said, and pressed the pendant into Clint’s hand. “It’s the cure,” she said. “Drink it.”

He shrugged and took a sip, then handed it over to Coulson. Clint disappeared before Coulson even raised it to his lips. 

“See you,” Coulson said to Natasha, and drank.

“We’ll be right there, sir,” said Simmons anxiously, as he melted away.

“Now you,” said Natasha, handing her the pendant. 

Simmons looked at it and then at Skye. “Skye, I feel that I should say-“

“Save it,” said Natasha, looking past Skye at the darkness under the steps. “We need to go, now.”

Simmons drank and pushed the pendant at Skye, who finally took her sip - it tasted like knockoff cherry cola, actually - and faded out looking at Natasha taking hers.

+++

Skye was cold.

When she remembered how to open her eyes, she saw a black, cavernous emptiness, blurry as if her eyes were open underwater. It was a long, confusing moment before she understood that she was lying on her back, looking into the shadowy rafters of a tall room. Much taller than the attic at the manor. She was looking through a thick pane of glass, close to her face. There was a lot of noise and muffled shouting.

Something thumped across Skye’s window. It was Captain America in full regalia. He struggled upright and kicked a tall hooded figure in the face, then disappeared from her line of sight.

“What?” Skye croaked. 

Her fingers were stiff and clumsy as she searched for a latch in the coffin. Was it a coffin? Not finding anything, she eventually just started kicking, and managed to jostle the glass lid enough that it slid heavily off to one side, whacking her in the nose as it went. “Ow, ow, ow,” she chanted, hauling herself upright with one hand on her nose.

Everyone else was running around in the rows of glass pods fighting hooded creeps. Actually, most of the bad guys were lying on the floor already, and Hulk was using two of them like salad forks to sweep a bunch of the ones that were still conscious into a pile. They kept trying to squirm away but the Hulk just studiously patted them back into place. 

A coffin near Skye’s cracked and the glass lid fell away in two jagged halves, and Natasha leapt up to a crouch. The knuckles of one of her hands were bleeding.

“Did you just punch your way out of that thing?” said Skye indistinctly. Her nose was still streaming blood and she felt like she’d been asleep for five years.

“Is everyone awake?” said Natasha, scanning the room.

“Yeah, I think so,” said Skye. “All the coffins are open.”

Captain America went somersaulting past and knocked out the last hooded guy with just his ankle. “Good one, Cap,” called Tony Stark, who was sitting on the edge of his coffin, watching the action. 

“You can help anytime, Tony,” Cap called back with a fond smile. 

Tony held up his hands and said, “Although I am a super-hero, I don’t actually have any super-powers. And I’m sure you don’t want me wrecking my brand new heart over a bunch of Jawa wannabes.”

Cap grinned. “I understood that.”

Captain America, the Captain America, knelt down and pushed back the guy’s hood to feel for a pulse. Huh, under the hood he had purple skin. Maybe more of a reddish-purple. And a round puffy face like a Cabbage Patch doll. “Is that an alien?” said Skye.

Simmons appeared at Skye’s shoulder and gushed, “Yes, an entirely new kind of life form! Distinct from anything found on Earth and from the Chitauri or any other known alien species.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes at Simmons as she climbed down from her coffin. 

“And cruel world-dominating tyrants, of course,” Simmons added quickly. “Who drugged us and trapped us all in a virtual reality. Very bad people. Oh, your nose!”

“Yeah,” said Skye, still pinching her nose shut. “I hit it on the lid. Pretty stupid.”

Simmons pulled Skye’s hand away and inspected the damage. “Not broken,” she said. 

“Good,” said Skye, seeing Simmons as if for the first time. “Hey.”

Simmons looked at her inquiringly, seemed to finally realize who she was talking to, and blushed. “Oh,” she said. “Hello.”

“Sorry,” said Skye. “This is weird. And my face is covered in blood.”

“No, no, it’s not weird,” said Simmons, babbling a little. “It will take us all a little while to adjust. We all have two sets of memories, now, especially those of us who spent the most time in the virtual reality, like me and Fitz. Obviously, things were very different there, and our minds were affected by the cocktail of chemicals which the aliens-“

“Right,” said Skye, heart sinking. “Definitely.”

Simmons rummaged in her pockets, avoiding Skye’s eyes. “Your compulsion to meet me in the virtual world can be explained by the instructions I left you before I was kidnapped, and I understand that,” she said. “Oh, here it is.” She pulled a clean handkerchief out of her back pocket and started dabbing at Skye’s face.

“It was kind of nice, though, right?” said Skye, and already regretted it. “Wait. You don’t have to say yes. I’m sorry. It’s the alien drugs talking.”

“It was kind of nice,” said Simmons.

“It was?” said Skye.

Simmons blushed again, wiping Skye’s blood away with intense concentration. “I was simply agreeing with you!” She bit her lip and fussed when Skye raised her hands to help. “Stop that, stop that! I’m a doctor!”

“I know you are,” said Skye. She couldn’t help her huge grin, even if it made her nose hurt. She lowered her voice and said, “So, like, what was nice? The awkward flirting? The life or death science? My sweet Jane Austen costume?” She was making Simmons smile. Score.

“Actually, I found your dress a little anachronistic,” said Simmons. Skye laughed, and Simmons smiled shyly. “But yes. Yes to all of it, I suppose. Is that silly? I never imagined myself as a princess in a tower. Ridiculous.”

“It was pretty ridiculous,” agreed Skye. “So what do you say we have a do-over sometime. You know, get coffee or see a movie. Like modern folks.”

“Yes, I think I’d like that,” said Simmons, and gave Skye a private smile.

There was a boom, and Skye and Simmons both jumped. Thor - Thor - came bursting through the double doors at the end of the room, waving his hammer, and with him came a rolling smell of singed hair. Coulson followed, grinning, with Natasha and Barton. 

“Turns out they’re allergic to lightning strikes,” said Coulson. 

“I brought thunder down on this whole building,” Thor announced. “I know this cowardly race from my youth. They won’t be back to bother this planet again.”

“Yaaay,” said Tony Stark, clapping.

Ward, May, Colonel Rhodes (as in, the War Machine? Skye couldn’t believe she’d sassed War Machine to his face, even if it was in a virtual reality) and Captain America were all dragging the rest of the aliens into Hulk’s pile. This seemed to please Hulk, who started stacking them like Lincoln logs. 

“Fitz, I think you can come out now,” called Simmons, and Fitz slowly rose from where he’d been crouching behind Skye’s coffin. 

“So you were just using my unconscious body as a shield?” said Skye, teasing.

“Hey,” said Fitz defensively. “When I woke up, Hulk was bashing one of them to death against my stasis pod. I had to get to safety.”

“You,” said Tony Stark. He swung around on his coffin until he was facing Skye, Simmons and Fitz. “You guys made the cure, right?”

“She did,” said Skye and Fitz together, pointing at Simmons.

“I just delivered it,” added Skye. Barton and Natasha were staring at her from across the room. Skye had never met them in real life, but in the dream, or whatever, they’d protected her and invited her to sleep on their floor. They seemed to be having the same weird revelation she was. She waggled her fingers at them, and Barton waggled his sarcastically back. Yeah. They were still buddies.

Tony pointed at Skye and Simmons with both finger-guns. “The lucky winners,” he said. “You get to explain what the hell just happened.”

Coulson spoke up. “My team got a message saying the Avengers had been kidnapped. We stepped in to help.”

“I do not remember that part,” said Tony. 

“You and the other Avengers were under the influence of the virtual reality for several days longer than the rest of us,” offered Simmons. “Your memories will be unclear, but they should return to normal. Probably.”

“Probably?” said Tony.

“Let the lady speak,” said Captain America.

Simmons smiled nervously. “You were kidnapped from all over the world, and when Dr. Banner was taken, the aliens obviously had to use much more of the drug than they did for the rest of you. Several capsules were left in the wreckage of what had fortunately been an uninhabited area. Ward collected as many of those samples as possible and gave them to me, and I prepared an antidote, hoping that releasing you all from captivity would be as simple as waking you up.”

“We didn’t know about the virtual reality, though,” said Fitz. 

“Wait. I didn’t know about it either,” said Tony, frowning. “What virtual reality?”

Barton raised an eyebrow. “The one where you were a fancy country lord in England, and rode around on a fancy horse?”

For once, Tony didn’t say anything, just sat there looking like he was about to make a great point if he could only think of what it was.

“You thought you were a fancy lord, didn’t you,” said Captain America.

“Well, so did you,” said Tony defensively.

“Yeah, but only while I was under,” said Captain America. “You thought so until right now!”

“What can I say, it was pretty realistic,” retorted Tony. “Giant house, basement full of weapons.”

“And your consuming passion for Captain Rogers,” said Thor with a sly smile.

“Please, I don’t even like him,” said Tony. Captain America just rolled his eyes.

“Ugh, this again,” said Natasha. “Save it for the honeymoon. Simmons?”

“Oh,” said Simmons. “Well, that’s really as far as I can tell you. Shortly after making the antidote, the aliens attacked our plane and captured us, and I was put under. I hadn’t anticipated a virtual prison. Of course, it’s a clever way to keep our minds engaged and distracted while the aliens finished taking over the planet.”

“But I wasn’t on the bus at the time,” said Skye, beginning to remember. “And you left me a note.”

“That’s right, I did,” said Simmons with an encouraging smile.

“You told me to let myself be captured and then upload the formula you made to the aliens’ machines. But I was put under before I could do it.”

“So you sought me out in the virtual world, and delivered the formula to me there,” said Simmons, pleased. “You saved all of us, really, Skye.”

“What are we, chopped liver?” said Barton. He was grinning at Skye, though.

“Certainly not, Mr. Barton,” said Skye, and pretended to curtsey. “I couldn’t have done it without you and Miss Romanov.”

“This is adorable,” said Tony. “Let’s go.” He hopped unsteadily down from his pod. “I need to see if the rest of the world still exists.”

+++

It did exist. Apparently the kidnapping and drugging thing was a particular MO of these aliens, and they didn’t start the actual world-domination part until they had collected all the most dangerous warriors of the planet. By the time Thor fried them all they hadn’t even built any other bases yet. Amateurs.

The upside of all this was that now Clint was sitting in Coulson’s plane, drinking a nightcap in his office, while the rest of Coulson’s team slept downstairs. It seemed almost like old times.

“I don’t really get the old timey Britain thing, though,” said Clint, flopped back on Coulson’s couch. “Are the aliens just really big fans of Pride and Prejudice, or what?”

Coulson smiled into his drink. He was leaning against his desk, and looked a lot more tired than you’d expect from a man who had been asleep for forty-eight hours. “As far as Simmons can tell, the setting and details of the virtual reality are taken from the most vivid imagination in the group.”

“In our group?” said Clint. 

Coulson shrugged. “It wouldn’t make sense for them to trap them in a scenario from their own culture. Our minds would reject it right away.”

“Don’t tell me whose internal landscape is an entire Jane Austen book. Is it Simmons? She’s British.”

“Nope,” said Coulson, grinning. “Simmons insists that it could only be Fitz. Apparently his tablet is secretly full of romance novels.”

Clint laughed and tipped his head back against the couch. “Your team is adorable,” he said. “I can see why you like them so much.” He couldn’t keep the wistfulness out of his voice, damn it. He should have gone to bed two drinks ago.

Coulson sighed and set his glass down on the desk, smiling fondly. “I like you, too, you know,” he said. “It’s not a popularity contest.”

Clint tilted his head a little to look at him.

“I knew you were alive,” Clint said quietly. “Fury filled us in. When you didn’t contact me I figured you didn’t want me to know.”

Coulson crossed the few paces from desk to couch and leaned down, one hand on either side of Clint’s head, and said, “And I thought that you were angry at me for dying.”

“I was, a little,” Clint admitted, gazing up at Coulson. “And then I found out you had this team and I was on an undercover op anyway and you had this whole new thing where you weren’t handling just one or two specialists anymore, you were handling a whole team and fighting aliens and I-“

Coulson leaned down and kissed him, and Clint grabbed the back of his head, kissing back desperately. “Come here,” he insisted, and tugged Coulson down to straddle his lap. 

“I hope Natasha told you how ridiculous you were being,” said Coulson, rubbing a hand fondly through Clint’s hair.

“On a regular basis,” said Clint. “Kiss me again.”

“First,” said Coulson, and Clint groaned, “I wanted to extend you a formal invitation. Since your cover’s blown after this whole alien abduction thing, and you’re also a famous Avenger from the Battle of New York, I was thinking you and Natasha could join my team on the plane for a while. Saving people, hunting things. Teaching my team a few life skills.”

“I’m in,” said Clint. “You have to ask Natasha herself, though.”

“I already did. She said her participation was dependent on you and me sorting it out.” He finally kissed Clint again, though, and Clint even got his tie loosened before Coulson pulled away again.

“Oh my God,” said Coulson, pulling a shocked face. “What will your chaperone think?”

“Never, ever talk to me about chaperones again,” said Clint, and flipped Coulson neatly over on the couch.

THE  
END


End file.
